From There to Here
by AnneKB
Summary: Jamie can only wonder what she's gotten herself into.
1. A Thousand Little Ways

From There to Here  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own them (or anything much else, either)  
  
Author's Note: (For people who are observant, you may notice this story was up before, for about five minutes. This time I promise it will stay) This story began as an attempt to dig deeper into the beginnings of the friendship between Jamie and Jack, but then it just ran away with me. I suppose you could call it a "post-post Aftershock" story, because it focuses on events that take place shortly after, in and around the episode "Causa Mortis."  
  
Also – Jack's sections of this story are very angst-y. You've been warned.   
  
Chapter 1: A Thousand Little Ways  
  
Jamie Ross was coming to the realization that the New York County District Attorney's office was a confusing place to work. Nearly four months after being hired, she was still getting lost in the hallways, overwhelmed by the sheer amount of people surrounding her. At Gorton and Steinhart she'd been lucky enough to have her own office, and she'd grown accustomed to the privacy and quiet. Here she'd been assigned to a temporary cubicle, surrounded by other ADA's all doing their best to get noticed.   
  
It was already four in the afternoon and Jamie was starting to glance at the clock, looking forward to going home. That morning Katie had decided to throw a tantrum because Mommy was going, and it tore Jamie apart to leave her crying daughter behind. She trusted her live-in babysitter absolutely, but being a working mother still wasn't always easy.  
  
"Jamie. Can you take this arraignment?" David, her supervisor, dropped a file on her desk, jolting Jamie out of her thoughts.  
  
"Sure," Jamie said automatically as she took the case file and paged through it, "Wait. This is a capital charge. Shouldn't this go up to major felonies?"  
  
"It should," David acknowledged, "But they're short up there right now. I think you can handle it."  
  
"I'll get started on it right away." Jamie smiled at David, who nodded back and went on with his pile of case files to the next cubicle.  
  
  
  
Jamie paged through the file again. The police report was startling, to say the least – someone had killed a mother of four simply to steal her car – but there was even a tape of this woman pleading with her killer for her life.   
  
Jamie shook her head as she finished reading. She thought as a defense attorney she'd seen just about everything, but this was the last straw. This was a chance, she decided – a chance to finally do some good and put a murderer behind bars (or maybe even six feet under) instead of making excuses for them.  
  
Purely on a personal note, Jamie also realized, a capital case was a good way to get noticed and maybe, just maybe get out of this cubicle in the district attorney's office's version of purgatory.  
  
She would start by making sure this SOB didn't have a snowball's chance in hell of bail. The arraignment was scheduled for first thing in the morning – more than enough time to get a brief together. Jamie grabbed her briefcase and headed for the law library.  
  
  
  
Meanwhile, a few floors above, Jack McCoy was trying everything he could not to look out the front window of his office.   
  
For the past few weeks he'd been working with the blinds closed, until someone had stopped by and asked him why. Jack had stammered some excuse about light in the hallway distracting him, but he realized that he would have to open the damn things sooner or later. So today he had left them open, but instead of confronting the view he was working as much as he could with his back to the window.  
  
He knew it was ridiculous. If Claire were here even she would agree. He could picture exactly the way she would roll her eyes at him over it.  
  
And yet he could not let himself look at that empty desk. Ridiculous or not, he couldn't do it.   
  
Better to just keep working, Jack thought, as he buried his nose in a case file. Better to just keep on working and not think about anything but the intricacies of various "C" and "D" level felonies.  
  
Strangely enough, for some reason, those "D" felonies took all of his concentration. They were the sort of things he would normally have expected Claire to take care of on her own, the types of cases he would once have been able to handle in his sleep. Now it was suddenly exhausting just to figure out which line to complete on a form. It was all a burden, an effort.  
  
Jack sighed and took another swig from his third cup of coffee that day. Shape up, he chided himself, you have work to do.  
  
  
  
Jamie arrived bright and early for the arraignment the next morning and squeezed her way through the crowded courtroom to wait for her case to be called. She sat next to two other ADA's who seemed more interested in their conversation than the case files they had in their hands.   
  
'There's an open position up in major felonies, did you hear?" One asked the other, and Jamie's ears perked up. David had said they were short, hadn't he?  
  
"Ooh, wouldn't that be an assignment."   
  
"Easy for you to say. You did just get promoted over to Auto Crimes, didn't you?"  
  
"I wouldn't call it a promotion, Olivia. I'd call it a lateral move. Same status, different department."  
  
"Well, you're lucky. You know who's just dying for that open spot, don't you?"  
  
"Let me guess. It wouldn't be Carmichael, would it?"   
  
They both laughed.  
  
"Exactly," Olivia said, "Ever since Ricci got promoted over to Rackets she has been out of her mind over it. But she won't get it."  
  
"No, she won't. And neither will you or I, at least not right now."  
  
"My case is up. I'll talk to you later."   
  
Olivia stood up and bolted for the podium, and the other woman smiled over at Jamie.  
  
"I hate waiting, don't you?"  
  
Jamie nodded in agreement.  
  
"I hope they hurry," The woman continued, "I have a grand jury in two hours. They called me for this at the last possible second. What's your case?" She looked over at Jamie.  
  
"First degree murder." Jamie replied, and the other ADA's eyes widened.  
  
"Ooh," She said, "Now that beats penny-ante drug cases and stolen cars, doesn't it?"  
  
"I suppose so." Jamie said.  
  
"My name is Paige Kendall," The woman said, holding her briefcase on her lap with one hand and extending the other out to Jamie, "I'm up in auto crimes. You know, grand theft auto, driving under the influence, that sort of thing. The biggest felony I ever see is vehicular homicide. You?"  
  
"Jamie Ross," Jamie shook Paige's outstretched hand, "I'm in the general pool right now. Waiting for a permanent assignment."  
  
"Well, they must have some faith in you to hand you that to begin with." Paige said.   
  
"I've been a criminal defense attorney for five years." Jamie said, and Paige nodded again.  
  
"Oh. Welcome to the other side of the aisle, then," Paige smiled, "And that's my case. Nice meeting you."  
  
Jamie returned to reviewing her brief for the few minutes she had until she heard her own case called.  
  
"People vs. Fernando Salva, murder in the first degree, robbery in the first degree."  
  
"What's your plea, Mr. Salva?" Judge Gance asked as she peered at Fernando Salva from the height of her bench.  
  
"Not guilty." He said.  
  
"No bail, Your Honor, the people want Mr. Salva remanded to custody." Jamie spoke up.  
  
"Your Honor," retorted Salva's attorney, a man who looked as if he was old enough to have assisted Clarence Darrow himself, "Mr. Salva has no record, he has lived in the same apartment with his grandmother since the age of ten…"  
  
"And he kills people," Jamie interjected, peeved by his attitude, "This is a capital charge. Mr. Salva killed a total stranger, a mother of four, to steal her car."  
  
"Unlike my young colleague," Salva's attorney shot back, "I believe in litigation before incarceration, as did the founding fathers."  
  
Oh please, Jamie thought, "US v. Salerno, there's no constitutional right to bail."  
  
"But in the State of New York…" He continued, and Jamie cut him off once again.  
  
"The New York appellate division ruled similarly in People ex Shapiro v. The Keeper of City Prisons. I've prepared a brief."  
  
The bailiff took Jamie's brief and handed it to Judge Gance, who looked at it with a fond smile on her face.  
  
"Keeper of City Prisons," She said, "I haven't heard that cite since law school."   
  
"Your Honor," the Defense Attorney sputtered a bit, "My client meets all of the customary standards for bail. I mean, I'd have prepared a brief…"  
  
Judge Gance stopped him with a glare.  
  
"You should have, Mr. Mercer," She said, "Defendant is remanded to custody." She banged her gavel and called for the next case, and Jamie couldn't help but shoot a self-satisfied smirk at Fernando Salva.   
  
This time, she thought to herself, if I have anything to say about it, the system will work the way it's supposed to.   
  
  
  
Jamie knew it was a bit forward of her, but after the arraignment she called Adam Schiff's office. She had barely seen the district attorney since he'd hired her, after her third interview four months earlier, but he had always taken the time out to say hello to her and ask how things were going the few times she had seen him. Most of the other ADA's in her position were lucky if he knew their names.   
  
"So, Miss Ross, have a seat," Adam said, gesturing towards the couch in his office and sitting down in the leather easy chair opposite, "What is this about?"  
  
"I wanted to talk to you about the Salva case, Mr. Schiff," Jamie began, but Adam stopped her.  
  
"First of all, it's Adam. Mr. Schiff sounds too formal. Now, you want to stay on the case?"  
  
"Yes…" Jamie stared at him, surprised at his intuition, "How did you know?"  
  
"Just a hunch. Not everyone prepares briefs for arraignments. The case is being assigned to Jack McCoy. He needs a second chair; I'll talk to him and let you know."  
  
"Thank you, Mr. Schiff… Adam." Jamie stood, and Adam shook her hand.  
  
"Don't worry," He said, "Jack will say yes."   
  
He has to, Adam thought, if I tell him to.   
  
  
  
Jamie went back to her desk and began preparing the Grand Jury slip. Her mind started to replay her conversation with Adam as she worked.  
  
Jack McCoy, she thought, now she had heard of him. Who hadn't? His reputation was big enough that nearly everyone knew of him, even if they had never seen him. On one of Jamie's first days in the office, David was showing her around the hallways, pointing out each different department and bureau – Auto Crimes here, Narcotics here, Rackets here, Vice over there – they had seen Jack in the hallway. David had pointed him out to her.  
  
"That's Jack McCoy."  
  
"Oh." Jamie didn't grasp the significance of the name at the time.  
  
"He's Adam's top EADA," David explained, "Adam assigns him all the rough cases."  
  
"Oh." Jamie said again, looking over at the man with more understanding, if not much interest. He was pushing the button on the elevator, talking animatedly to the person with him. Although Jamie hadn't thought much of the encounter at the time, now she went over it again in her mind, trying to reform her mental picture. She had heard something about him recently – what was it? Oh - he was a witness to the state's first execution a few weeks ago and went right back to work – David had mentioned that. The execution had been the big event around the office, and nearly everyone Jamie had spoken to that day had said at least something about it.   
  
Well, it wasn't much of a picture, Jamie thought, but at least she had an idea of what he looked like, and what he might be like. If anything, her curiosity was piqued.   
  
  
  
While Jamie was trying to form her mental image of Jack McCoy, Adam was waiting in his office. It was about time he stopped coddling Jack, stopped making sure anything above a "C" felony was assigned to someone else. It had been a few weeks, that had to be enough time to get used to the idea that life goes on.  
  
Or at least, the work goes on. He had three other ADA's all scrambling to cover the reassigned caseload, and he had asked more than enough of them already. It was time to toss Jack back into the ring. It might help him out, get his mind moving again. First step – assign a new second chair. That step would be the hardest, Adam thought, chances are he's going to resent almost anyone I give him, might as well get it over with.  
  
Adam heard the door to his office open and close and he turned to see Jack. Damn – the man looked like he hadn't slept in days. Maybe he hadn't.  
  
"You're taking the Salva case." He told him.   
  
"Salva'll plead out. An answering machine could handle it." Jack said.   
  
"Nothing on the front page of the Post is that easy. You'll need a second chair."  
  
Jack flinched. His first instinct was, as Adam had predicted, to say no. He didn't want anyone – anyone – taking Claire's place.  
  
"I'm doing fine on my own," He said. Adam, expecting this, already had an argument ready.  
  
"You're not getting paid all that money to look up cases in the library."  
  
"If I need somebody," Jack said, "I can borrow Crocker for the afternoon."  
  
"Crocker." One of the ADA's who's already working his butt off to cover the twelve cases I had to reassign to him, Adam thought, "What do you know about Jamie Ross?"  
  
"Not much," Jack replied, searching his mind for the name, "She used to work at Gorton and Steinhart."  
  
"She was married to Neil Gorton. She asked to stay on the case."  
  
Jack now remembered a few more things he had heard about Jamie Ross, although it was hard to remember exactly where he had heard them – events beyond the last few weeks were a little hazy in his memory.   
  
"She's been in the office for less than six months."  
  
"She's had five years as a criminal defense attorney. Eight homicide trials, seven acquittals." Adam sighed, remembering that he had hired Jamie four months earlier hoping a position would become available for her in major felonies, although he certainly didn't expect it to open up the way it had.  
  
"And a kid at day care," Jack said, "I need someone who can put in the late hours."  
  
I know what that means with you, Adam thought, but felt a little guilty about thinking it. The man probably wasn't going to be putting in late hours with anyone anytime soon.   
  
"Watch the answering machine," He answered, "I like her. So will you."  
  
Jack understood from his tone that there was nothing more to say about the situation, and he would have a new second chair, like it or not.   
  
"I have one more question." Jack said.  
  
"Go ahead."  
  
"Did you find out who's been assigned to the Kennedy case?"   
  
Adam sighed. He had made the decision to treat the Kennedy case, as Jack referred to it, the same as any other case of vehicular manslaughter that happened to come through his office. He couldn't be accused of favoritism just because the woman Michael Kennedy happened to slam into when he ran a red light was someone from his office.   
  
"No," Adam said, "You can ask Arlene Wolensky in Auto Crimes. It's her case, I'm sure she assigned it to one of her ADA's."  
  
"One of her ADA's?" Jack asked, and Adam gave him a warning look.  
  
"What do you think she'd do with it? Handle it herself?"  
  
"I would."  
  
"No, you wouldn't," Adam shook his head, "You've got blinders on."  
  
Blinders, Jack thought. It was just like Adam to try to prove there was no such thing as special treatment in his office when this was a case that demanded it.   
  
"Fine," Jack shrugged, "I'll go talk to Arlene."  
  
"You do that." Adam said as Jack left the office.  
  
  
  
Jamie was still working on her grand jury slip when the phone rang on her desk.  
  
"Jamie Ross."  
  
"Miss Ross, You can move your things upstairs whenever you're ready." It was Adam's secretary.  
  
"Thank you," Jamie couldn't help smiling.  
  
"You're welcome, Miss Ross." He said, and hung up. Jamie glanced around and saw an empty box in a stack a few feet from her desk. David walked up as she began piling her things into it.  
  
"Good news?" He asked.  
  
"I've been assigned as Jack McCoy's second chair. I get to stay on the Salva case."   
  
"That is good news. Good luck. And don't forget that picture of Katie."  
  
Jamie grabbed the frame and put the photo in her box. When she looked up, David had already disappeared down the hallway. So much for goodbyes, she thought.  
  
  
  
It had been a while since Jack had been down to the Auto Crimes bureau – and a long time since he'd talked to Arlene Wolensky. Arlene – a Senior ADA – had been with the office at least as long as Jack, and had been handling major felonies all the way back in the 1970's. Since then she'd moved around to head nearly every department at least once.   
  
She had also once been a good friend of Jack's ex-wife, Elise, back when Elise was still with the DA's office. She and Arlene would have a girl's night out whenever one of them won a case, and Jack could still remember how much Elise enjoyed making him wait up for her instead of the other way around. Sometimes, it seemed, she would do it out of spite – which is probably why he and Elise had been divorced for more than fifteen years.  
  
"Jack," Arlene said when she saw him, "How are you."  
  
"I've been better," Jack answered as he sat across from her desk.  
  
"How is Elise?" Arlene asked.  
  
"She's fine," He answered, although it had been a while since he'd spoken to her. They only had one thing in common now – their daughter – and as long as he sent his share of her tuition bills, Elise didn't see any reason to discuss her.   
  
Arlene nodded and folded her hands on her desk.   
  
"So, Jack, what did you come to see me about?"  
  
"I had a case I wanted to talk to you about – Michael Kennedy?"  
  
"Kennedy, Kennedy… refresh my memory, please." Arlene swiveled around in her chair and began digging through her file cabinet.  
  
"Vehicular homicide, several weeks ago, ran a red light with a BA level of point one four…"  
  
"Here it is," Arlene pulled the file, "All right. It looks like that case was assigned to Paige Kendall, one of my ADA's… and she's waiting for a sit down with his public defender. Looks like a plea, in my opinion. Why?"  
  
"A plea?" Jack asked.  
  
"Yes, it's a standard case," Arlene continued to look over the case file, "I advised her to take vehicular manslaughter, one to three, et cetera, et cetera… she's got four other cases almost exactly like it. I've got twenty times that in my office." Arlene looked up at Jack, "So you didn't answer my question. Why the interest in this case?"  
  
There was no good way to answer that question, Jack thought, still stinging from Arlene's description of the case as "standard." As if there wasn't a human being on the other end of that paperwork.  
  
"The victim in this case is someone from my office," Jack said, although that didn't begin to describe it.   
  
Arlene, who had laid the case file open on her desk, glanced down and quickly shut it. Jack couldn't understand why at the time, but he later realized it was to spare him. The case file contained the ME's report, complete with photos, and although Arlene was a long way from guessing the truth, she understood right away that no one wants to see a friend or a co-worker laid out like that.  
  
"I'm sorry," She said automatically, "I'll tell Paige to give you a call when she knows anything."  
  
Jack nodded, even though that wasn't the answer he was looking for. He knew how prosecutors talk to the families and friends of victims, and Arlene was using those words, that tone of voice. When this Paige Kendall called him, she would use those words too, and Jack suddenly understood just how empty and ridiculous they sounded. But she was just doing her job. He had a job to do, too.   
  
"Thanks, Arlene. I should get back to work."  
  
"Sure, Jack. Nice to see you again." Arlene turned around and slid the file back into her filing cabinet as he left.   
  
  
  
Jack made his way back to his office with Arlene's "standard" still echoing in his head. In her defense, she didn't know why he was asking at the time – and when she did, her entire tone changed. The look she gave him – he had come to know it well in the past few weeks. It was the look Monica, his administrative assistant, gave him every morning. The look Adam had been giving him ever since he heard the news. That uncomfortable "I don't know quite what to say" look that only made everything worse.   
  
As he turned the corner, he saw Jamie Ross through the glass wall of the "office" that, not three weeks ago, had belonged to Claire – the empty desk he had been trying so hard not to look at. This woman was unpacking a box like she belonged there - setting a plant, of all things, in the corner of the desk.   
  
At least it wouldn't be empty anymore, he thought, although he wasn't sure if that was better or worse. He watched her for a moment, then knocked on the glass to get her attention.  
  
  
  
Monica had directed Jamie over to her new desk and advised her, with a stiff sort of politeness, to make herself at home, which is exactly what Jamie was doing when she heard the knock on the glass and looked up to see Jack McCoy. Something about him was different than the image she had cobbled together from her memory, but he didn't give her time to think about it. He gestured for her to follow him into his office, and she grabbed the case file and walked over to him.  
  
"We're presenting the Salva case to the grand jury this afternoon," He said as he opened his office door to let her in. Okay, Jamie thought, if this can be considered an introduction, I'll just run with it.  
  
"I prepared the slip," She said, handing it to him, "It's my first capital case. I wanted to make sure I dotted all the "i's."  
  
Jack glanced over the slip. Before his meeting with Arlene he'd had a few moments to read the case file, and he saw an error on the form.  
  
"It's fine," He said, "Just amend it to murder two."  
  
"Murder in furtherance of a robbery is murder one."  
  
Jack took his jacket off and hung it on the rack in the corner. He wasn't in the mood to argue, but she was not making this easy.  
  
"The statute reads 'With intent to cause the death of another person.'" He said.  
  
"Salva bashed Rankin's head in and left her for dead. His intent couldn't have been clearer." Jamie was having trouble believing what she was hearing.  
  
"It would be if he had used his gun." Jack replied.  
  
"I didn't realize I was still in the business of arguing the defense's case." Jamie shot back.  
  
"We're in the business of proving things beyond a reasonable doubt," Jack said, "We can prove murder two, depraved indifference without breaking a sweat."  
  
"So give the jury the option with a lesser included charge," Jamie countered, "I don't mind breaking a sweat if at the end of the day we put Salva's lights out."  
  
"An eye for an eye." Jack couldn't help but think how strange it was having someone in front of him arguing for the death penalty, the reverse of the arguments he was used to having over the past year. Don't think like that, he warned himself, not now.  
  
"No." Jamie said, "One worthless life for the six he destroyed. You heard the tape. She showed him pictures of her kids, for God's sake."  
  
"A good emotional argument," Jack was firm, "It doesn't prove the prima faccia case."   
  
Jamie sighed with exasperation at this unexpected response.  
  
"I'm surprised," She said, "I mean, with all due respect, you witnessed Mickey Scott's execution and went right back to work."  
  
Jack shook his head, flinching inwardly at the memory of that day.  
  
"I haven't gone soft, Ms. Ross. I can believe in the death penalty without being sanguine about it."  
  
"Well, don't temper your enthusiasm on my account." Jamie regretted the tone of her voice almost as soon as she had said those words, even though she meant them.  
  
"This is not a capital case," Jack said firmly, and Jamie shook her head at him and left the office, almost slamming the door on her way out.  
  
She sat down at her desk, still fuming over the way the conversation had deteriorated, when Jack's office door opened again. She turned to see him standing in the doorway.  
  
"Amend it to murder two," He repeated, "And the grand jury is at 4:30PM."  
  
"All right," Jamie nodded, "But are you absolutely sure…"  
  
"I'm sure, Ms. Ross." Jack ducked back inside his office and shut the door.   
  
  
  
Jack had heard the tape, and he wasn't surprised that his new assistant was so ready to stick a needle in Fernando Salva's arm – the impassioned pleading of a woman trying to save her life was enough to move anyone. And the idea of a mother showing her murderer pictures of her children – no wonder she was affected.   
  
For his part, Jack found himself wondering now what it must feel like to face that – to try to plead and bargain your way out of a desperate situation. Claire, he knew, didn't even have time to plead, or bargain, or even think. What had she seen in that last moment of her life? What had she remembered?   
  
Maureen Rankin had pleaded with God, pleaded with her killer. She thought of her children, her husband. Was it worse to have that time to remember? Or was it worse to have it all disappear in a split second?  
  
It was an academic argument, Jack thought, and there's no point to it. He looked back out the window for a moment, then turned his attention to preparing his presentation for the grand jury.  
  
You have to snap out of this, he reminded himself, you still have a job to do.   
  
  
  
"Do grand juries usually return murder two indictments that fast?" Jamie asked Jack as they rode the elevator back to the office. She wasn't surprised, honestly, that it had taken less than a half an hour to make their decision, but she couldn't help but wonder how fast they might have returned an indictment for murder one.  
  
"That tape is convincing," Jack said, walking slightly ahead of Jamie as the doors opened. When he got to his office, he turned around to look at her.  
  
"We should be expecting a call from Abe Mercer," He said, "Looking for a sit-down."  
  
"A plea?" Jamie asked, hoping Jack would say no.  
  
"Not unless it's twenty-five to life," He replied, "I don't see a reason to go any lower than that."  
  
Jamie had to hide her sigh of relief. At least she and Jack appeared to agree on something.   
  
"It's six o'clock," he said, glancing at his watch, "Why don't you call it a night?"  
  
"At six o'clock?" Jamie asked, "I thought you'd just be getting started."  
  
"Tomorrow will be a long day," He shook his head, "Consider it your orientation."  
  
Jamie watched as he shut the door behind him. Exactly what could he mean by that?  
  
  
  
Twenty-four hours later Jamie had her answer. The first thing Monica had done that morning was drop a stack of at least fifteen case files on her desk.  
  
"What are these?" She asked. Monica sighed.  
  
"They all have your name on them," She smiled and turned around, and Jack walked up as she left.  
  
"Bring yourself up to speed on those," Jack said, "Then I have a few things I'd like to go over with you."  
  
Jamie nodded and took a file from the top of the stack.   
  
  
  
By the end of the day she felt almost as if she'd been run over by a truck. Jack had spent most of his day questioning every suggestion she made, although she suspected he did it just to get a better idea of her thought processes and opinions. Maybe it was his orientation day, but for her it was just the day from hell. Even now, at six o'clock in the evening, there were still stacks of paperwork piled everywhere, and she hadn't made a dent in any of it.  
  
"Coffee?" She looked up to see Jack standing by her desk, holding two cups. He held one out to her.   
  
"Thanks." Jamie said as she took the cup from him.  
  
"I told you today would be a long day," He sat in the chair next to her desk, "Don't say I didn't give you fair warning."  
  
"You did," She acknowledged, "How late were you here last night?"  
  
"Why do you ask?"  
  
Jamie hesitated. The question had flown out of her mouth before she had a chance to stop it, and she had only asked it because he looked so tired. She noticed he'd had a cup of coffee in his hands most of the day – this had to have been number three or four – but it wasn't any of her business.  
  
Jack didn't wait for her answer.   
  
"Late," He said, then changed the subject, "I got that call from Mercer today. He's going to call back when he's ready to meet."  
  
"You'd think he'd be raring to go, with his client in jail."  
  
"You would think," Jack agreed, "But the ball is in his court. Salva's not going anywhere, thanks to you."  
  
"I doubt Judge Gance would have given him bail."  
  
"Having a brief prepared couldn't have hurt. Anyway, I'll let you know when he calls."  
  
Jack stood up and left Jamie to work through her files for a while longer.   
  
  
  
The coffee wasn't working. It hadn't worked this morning to get rid of the hangover and it wasn't working now. Of course, the fact that it took at least half a bottle of scotch to fall asleep each night probably had something to do with the exhaustion that threatened to overtake him.  
  
Last night he had stayed in the office late, but not because there was work to do –even now, with the Salva case, his workload was still much lighter than it had been – but because going home was just another reminder. One of a thousand little reminders that managed to sneak their way into his world when he wasn't expecting them.   
  
His apartment had never been the warmest of places, but it was comfortable. Claire had once said "It just screams bachelor, Jack," but that was the way he liked it. Now it was just empty. Cold, dark, and empty.   
  
This, Jack realized, was another one of those ridiculous things. It wasn't as if they had lived together. But somehow, as time went on, she had insinuated herself into his place and he into hers, especially in the last few months. Three months ago she had surprised him by arranging some pictures on the walls and some family photos on a bookshelf – a very un-Claire-like thing to do, he had thought at the time, but the small gesture made the place look more like a home.  
  
"Is this what they call a woman's touch?" He asked, and Claire made a face at him.  
  
"Well, don't get used to it." She smiled, elbowing him gently in the ribs.  
  
So with the exception of some photographs on a shelf, nothing had changed, physically. There was just an overpowering, pervasive sense that something was missing. Maybe it was absurd, but he couldn't get that out of his mind, and he avoided going home to that cold, dark apartment.   
  
Bars were better. At least there was activity there, people talking and sometimes laughing, sometimes shouting, the sound of life, fueled by alcohol, circulating around him. By the time the bartenders would ring out last call, the pain in the idea of returning to that apartment was dulled somewhat.   
  
Dulling that pain was the best he could hope for. 


	2. Moving on Metal

From There to Here  
  
Disclaimer: Same as before and always.  
  
Chapter 2: Moving on Metal  
  
  
  
"This woman killed who?" Jamie asked, looking through the case file she'd just been handed.  
  
"It looks like it was her sister." Jack replied, "They need you in the arraignment in three hours."  
  
"Has Mercer called yet?"  
  
Jack shook his head, "No. Speaking of which, I'd like to go over the witness statements in the Salva case again with you this afternoon. Mercer may be sitting on his hands for a good reason, I want to know what it is."  
  
"But… this case, too?" Jamie sighed, "Another murder two charge?"  
  
"Nobody said this would be easy," Jack said, "Have you met Detectives Briscoe and Curtis yet?"  
  
"No. Aren't they the ones who arrested Salva?"  
  
"Right. And they're working this case, too. Give them a call, let them explain it to you."  
  
Jack went back into his office, and Jamie reached for her phone.  
  
  
  
"So we found a picture in this guy's apartment of this woman with her sister's husband, and the gun that killed her in a shelf in his closet." Detective Lennie Briscoe explained to Jamie while simultaneously attempting to eat a sandwich at his desk in the Squad Room of the Twenty-Seventh precinct. Jamie couldn't help but smile.  
  
"Joanne Sullivan was killed about two days ago," Rey Curtis said, glancing at his own notes, "and her sister initially told us she didn't even know Joanne was married, or wanted over in Jersey."  
  
"So she kills her sister because her sister discovered she was having an affair with her husband, and she lied to the police. All right, I can go with that." Jamie nodded.  
  
"So, how's Jack doing?" Rey asked. Lennie turned to him, surprised enough to put down his sandwich.  
  
"We know how he's doing." He said quietly, glancing at Jamie. Rey caught the look in his eye and nodded.  
  
Jamie also caught the look, but it only confused her. For some reason she thought of the difference between the spirited Jack McCoy she'd seen waiting for the elevator four months before and the man she now found herself working with.  
  
"So, counselor, how's the Salva case going?" Lennie asked, his voice brightening.  
  
"It's going," She answered, "Not as fast as I'd like, but it's going."  
  
Rey nodded, "Did you think backing off the death penalty was a good idea?"  
  
"No," Jamie answered, "That was Jack's idea. I would have gone for it."  
  
Another indecipherable look passed between the two detectives. Jamie would have questioned it had she not glanced at the clock above Lennie's head.  
  
"I have a date with an arraignment judge. Nice to meet you both." She gathered up her files and left as Lennie and Rey watched her.  
  
"What do you think McCoy thinks of her?" Rey asked Lennie as soon as she was out of hearing range.  
  
"I don't have to think," Lennie replied, "I know."  
  
"Mercer finally called," Jack said, walking up to Jamie's desk, "He wants to meet bright and early in the morning."  
  
"Took him over a week," Jamie shook her head as she looked up at Jack, "What do you think he was waiting on?"  
  
"I don't know," Jack replied, "We'll find out tomorrow."  
  
Jack walked back into his office, and just as he sat down at his desk the phone rang.  
  
"McCoy."  
  
"Hello, Mr. McCoy? This is Paige Kendall."  
  
"Ms. Kendall." Jack said, startled, "I've been waiting for your call."  
  
"I know, I know, it's been a week," She began.  
  
"Over a week," Jack interrupted.  
  
"I know, and I'm sorry. I've had a busy week. Anyhow, you were asking about the Kennedy case. I had a meeting with his PD yesterday, and he's going to get back to me about the plea agreement. He sounded positive."  
  
"Who's defending him?"   
  
"Dean Connors." Paige answered.  
  
"I know him," Jack sighed, "Dean 'What are you offering' Connors. What did you offer?"  
  
"Vehicular manslaughter, one to three years."  
  
"Are you sure that's appropriate?"   
  
"Yes, I am," She said after a pause, the tone of her voice less friendly and more businesslike than a few moments before, "And I'll give you a call when I know the outcome."  
  
"Ms. Kendall," Jack began, but she interrupted him.  
  
"I'm late for a meeting, Mr. McCoy," She said, "I have to go. I'll call you."  
  
She hung up, and Jack slammed the phone back into its cradle. Of course Dean Connors would take a deal like that – it was the equivalent of his client winning a goddamn game show. One year for a murder? 365 days for smashing the life out of…   
  
Enough, Jack said to himself, I have had enough.  
  
  
  
Jamie looked up a few minutes later when she heard the door to Jack's office open and close again. Jack was already changed into his jeans, holding his jacket over one arm.  
  
"Leaving a little early?" She said cheerfully. Jack nodded his head.  
  
"Just a little," He said, "I'll see you in the morning."  
  
Jamie watched him as he left, still confused. She had been Jack's second chair for just over a week, and she had never expected a man known as Adam's right hand to be so… moody. That was the word for it, moody. Burned out, maybe. He came in every day, he did his job and yet there was just… something. She couldn't quite put it into words, and so she kept her mouth shut and turned back to her work.  
  
She envied Jack being able to leave an hour early. She would be here well past the next few hours, that was certain, another night she wouldn't be home early enough to kiss Katie goodnight.  
  
But then, she had missed plenty of goodnights working with Neil to set murderers free, too. At least the guilt here came from doing something positive.  
  
  
  
  
  
"Well, I've seen this evidence of yours, Mr. McCoy. No prints on the purse, no gun, And there's the member of our Hindu community who can tell a Brahma bull from a Guernsey, but can't tell what kind of car it was my client was allegedly driving."  
  
"Mr. Mercer…" Jack tried to interrupt. With the headache he had, listening to Abe Mercer pontificate in the conference room at Riker's was difficult at best, impossible if he didn't shut the hell up, and quick.  
  
"And then there's Mickey Driscoll. Counterfeiter. Hmm. What can we say about him that hasn't already been said by a dozen parole boards?"  
  
"We have the victim's own identification on tape." Jamie interjected.  
  
"My turn to have a brief handy, Ms. Ross," Mercer opened his briefcase and pulled out a file, "Motion to suppress."  
  
"Tough to suppress the fact that the car was in his fiancée's possession." Jack noted as he glanced at Mercer's motion.  
  
"Well, then, charge her with the carjacking."  
  
"What?" Fernando Salva, who had been silent until now, gave his lawyer a worried look.  
  
"Oh, it's a lawyer's joke, son." Mercer said reassuringly to Salva. He looked at Jamie and Jack, "He's very much in love with her."   
  
They left, and Jack gave the motion a second look.   
  
"Mercer's arguing the tape can't be authenticated, is that right?"  
  
Jamie sighed.   
  
  
  
"Well, I compared the voice prints from Salva to the tape. It's a twenty to forty percent match."  
  
"Well, a hundred would be good, but I'd settle for sixty to eighty," Jamie told the voice analyst, who had agreed to meet with her before she and Jack were due in Judge Scarletti's chambers. He showed her to a chair in front of his desk, and sat down to explain his findings.  
  
"You have a muffled microphone, too much background noise, not to mention the fact that the tape was ground into the mud."  
  
"They cleaned up a tape that went through a plane crash and sat in a Florida swamp for three weeks," Jamie replied, flashing her best expert witness smile, the same smile she always used when trying to convince someone to testify on behalf of one of her clients. The smile had never spoken as loudly as the checkbook, however.  
  
"This tape wasn't encased in a steel box."  
  
"You write forty percent on your report and no jury will ever hear it."  
  
"I'm not perjuring myself." He said.   
  
Jamie wanted to reach out and strangle him, but instead she smiled again.  
  
"I'm just asking you to be a little more aggressive in your conclusions." She said patiently.  
  
"Expert defense witnesses do that, Miss Ross." He countered, just as patiently.  
  
  
  
"What took so long?" Jack asked as Jamie came running down the hallway of the courthouse, "What did he say?"  
  
"Which question do you want me to answer first?" Jamie asked.  
  
"Jamie." It had taken only a week for him to start calling her by her first name.  
  
"He said it's a forty percent match, tops."  
  
"Well, that's just great."  
  
"Are you ready, now, Mr. McCoy?" Judge Scarletti's clerk leaned her head out of the door. Jack nodded, and followed Jamie into the judge's chambers.  
  
  
  
"The voice can't be conclusively identified as my client's," Mercer argued, "And we don't have the victim to authenticate when or where this tape was made."  
  
"We don't need Mrs. Rankin to authenticate. People v. Brown allows the admission of a spontaneous description of events as they occur." Jack countered. He had sent Jamie off to talk to the voice analyst while he researched every case he could find that had to do with tape recordings. He hadn't come up with much, and the task was complicated by the same headache that made Mercer even more insufferable than he usually was.  
  
"That's fine if Mrs. Rankin had physically described my client. But all they have is a voice."  
  
"She elicited from Mr. Salva his first name, where he lives and with whom. Under People v. McGee, that's enough to authenticate."   
  
"And if he had identified himself as Jack, a lawyer, living alone on the West Side," Mercer made a point of looking at Jack as he said this, "No, the only thing the tape proves is that the killer knew my client. I have a cite here, People v. Terrio…"  
  
"Terrio supports admitting tape-recorded conversations." Jamie spoke up.  
  
"Yes," Mercer said, glaring at Jamie, "But it also sets a standard for admissibility," Mercer opened up his paperwork and began to read from it, "A mere self-serving statement of identity by a person who's voice is unknown to the listener is insufficient authentication."  
  
"Let me see that." Judge Scarletti reached across his desk and took the paperwork from Mercer.  
  
"What possible motive would he have to lie about his identity?" Jack said, trying one last argument, "He knew he was going to kill her."  
  
"I'm sorry, Mr. McCoy, it's on point. You need Mrs. Rankin to authenticate."  
  
We need Mrs. Rankin, Jack thought, that is possibly the most idiotic, stupid, boneheaded…  
  
"If she were available, your honor, we wouldn't be here. It's absurd. His client benefits from killing…"  
  
"That's enough," Judge Scarletti cut him off, "I'm ruling for the motion. The tape is out."  
  
"Thank you very much, your honor." Mercer said.  
  
  
  
"Oh, that's not good news." Adam said when he saw the looks Jamie and Jack bore when they returned to the office.  
  
"He got the tape thrown out." Jamie shook her head, "By arguing we needed Mrs. Rankin to authenticate."  
  
"Abe Mercer," Adam sighed, "Ten years ago he was a broken down relic. Bad divorce, partner suing him… if Doc Gooden can rise from the dead, why not Abe Mercer?"  
  
"With a little help from Judge Scarletti?" Jamie asked.  
  
"Spilled milk. Half the time he makes idiotic rulings in our favor. There still a case here?"  
  
"Without the tapes it's the Bulls without Jordan." Jack said.  
  
"Yeah, well, seven and a half to fifteen is better than nothing. Put on your game face and talk to Mercer." Adam sighed again.  
  
"In his shoes, I'd take a chance with the jury."   
  
"Well, Scarletti will take the hit in the press, and a month from now it'll be Fernando who?" Adam nodded at Jamie and then walked into his office.  
  
"A plea?" Jamie asked Jack.  
  
"I don't like it any more than you do," Jack said.  
  
"Maybe there's something else we can do." Jamie suggested.  
  
"See what you can come up with," Jack nodded, "We'll wait a few days before we talk to Mercer again."  
  
  
  
"Jamie. Long time, no hear. How are you doing?" Jamie could hear his smile on the other end of the phone.  
  
"Not bad, Chuck, and you? How are you?"  
  
"Good. How's Katie doing?"  
  
"She's fine. She's three, you know, but she's stuck in that stage where everything is 'no, no, no.'"   
  
"I remember that," Chuck laughed on his end of the phone, "So, what's going on?"  
  
"I'm working for the DA's office now…"  
  
"Right, I heard. Congratulations on joining our side."  
  
Jamie laughed, "Thanks. Did you read in the papers about Fernando Salva?"  
  
"The carjacking murder? I sure did. You're working that case?"  
  
"I am. But it's not going the way I'd hoped. I was thinking maybe you could give us a hand…"  
  
"In taking over the case, you mean? I'm all ears, Jamie."   
  
"Can you come in to my office? I can go over the particulars with you, and then we'll talk to Jack McCoy and see what he thinks. He's actually in charge."  
  
"Sounds good. Thursday will work, if that's all right with you."  
  
Thursday, Jamie glanced at her calendar, three days away.   
  
"Thursday's good. Tell Emma I said hello."  
  
"I will. See you Thursday." Chuck replied, and Jamie hung up the phone. Turning the case over to the US Attorney's office would bring Salva that much closer to a death penalty, and that would satisfy everyone – she hoped.  
  
"Jamie," Jack was calling from his office doorway again, "Can you go over these statements with me again? Maybe you can turn up something I'm not seeing."  
  
"Sure." Jamie walked into Jack's office and sat down at the table in front of his desk. Witness statements and evidence files were spread everywhere on Jack's desk and the table, suggesting he'd been looking through them for a while. The two of them sat down and began to page through the evidence again.  
  
"Did you see this?" Jamie asked after a long moment.  
  
"What?" Jack made a move to look over her shoulder, but he was interrupted when the phone rang.  
  
"McCoy."  
  
"Mr. McCoy?" The voice on the other end was professional, but hesitant, "This is Paige Kendall."  
  
"Ms. Kendall. I didn't expect to hear back from you so soon."  
  
"I promised I'd call," She said, "I wanted to let you know that I've spoken with Dean Connors, and Michael Kennedy will be taking the plea."  
  
"What?" Jack's reply was so sharp Jamie turned her head to look at him, concerned.  
  
"Mr. McCoy…"  
  
Jack glanced at Jamie, who was watching him intently, and took a deep breath to disguise his anger.  
  
"I'd like to meet with you to discuss this," Jack said, "If that's all right."  
  
"Of course," She said, more sympathetically, "When is a good time for you?"  
  
"Thursday afternoon would be good."  
  
"I'll see you then." She hung up, and Jack sat back down at his desk.  
  
"What was that?" Jamie asked.  
  
For a moment, Jack considered telling Jamie. But if he did, then she would start giving him that look – that pitying look he'd had more than enough of. She would see him differently if she knew.  
  
"Nothing. Just a case," Jack said, "Now what was it you wanted me to look at?"  
  
  
  
  
  
Jamie and Jack were both a little apprehensive when Thursday afternoon rolled around, but for different reasons. Jamie wasn't sure how Jack would react to her calling Chuck Rodman, and Jack wasn't at all sure what he planned to say to Paige Kendall. He decided to spend a little time looking over the CPL for laws relating to driving under the influence while he waited to go downstairs and talk to the younger ADA. He was lying on the couch in his office with his feet propped on the armrest, tired from another night of little sleep, when there was a knock on his office door.  
  
"Come in." He said.  
  
"Jack, you got a minute?" It was Jamie, who popped her head in the door. When Jack turned to look at her, she had someone with her. Damn – this meant he had to stand up and look like a prosecutor again.  
  
"This is Chuck Rodman," Jamie said, "With the US Attorney's of the Southern District. Chuck and I went to Columbia together. I told him about the Salva case."  
  
Jack stood up, slightly curious as to the reason for Rodman's presence in his office.  
  
"I appreciate you stopping by commiserate."   
  
"Well," Rodman continued, "I can offer you more than my sympathies. We'd like to take the case off your hands. Under the federal anti-carjacking statutes, we don't need to prove that Mr. Salva intended to kill Mrs. Rankin in order to seek the death penalty."  
  
"US v. Holloway, I'm familiar with the ruling."  
  
"Then you're also aware that the federal standards for authentication are much broader than New York's.   
  
"They can get the tape back in." Jamie said.  
  
Jack did not like the way this was shaping up. His own assistant, arguing to give away a case? He felt cornered, caught off guard.  
  
"It's forum shopping." He said.  
  
"I did the research," Jamie told him, "Collateral estoppel won't prevent a federal judge from revisiting Scarletti's decision."  
  
"We can practically guarantee a conviction. And an execution."   
  
Pompous son of a bitch, Jack thought.  
  
"That's make a nice set of antlers to hang on your wall. I'll think about it."  
  
"The feds have the stronger case." Jamie sounded as if she suddenly knew better than he did.  
  
"I said I'd think about it. Thanks for coming in, Mr. Rodman."  
  
Jamie and Chuck exchanged looks. She'd been fairly certain Jack would agree with her, or at least be happy to get the case off his hands. His reaction puzzled her. She showed Chuck out and turned back to Jack.  
  
"Stacking sandbags," Jack said, "You learn that from Neil Gorton?"  
  
"No, I learned what defense attorneys are capable of." Jamie shot back, "Mercer's halfway to an acquittal. We lose in State court, the feds can't touch Salva. He's gonna be free because we passed up on this opportunity. Think of how that will play in the media."  
  
"No wonder Adam likes you." Jack said, only half-intending to say the words out loud.   
  
"The case is dead in the water!" Jamie yelled.   
  
"According to you," Jack responded, making an effort to keep his cool, "You seem to think that you're the only capable attorney in this office."  
  
Jamie thought, in that split second, of a million things she could say to that. She was the one here late every night, not him.   
  
"I have known Chuck Rodman for ten years. I don't see what the problem is!"  
  
"I don't like end runs," Jack shook his head, "You wanna bring in the feds, you talk to me first."  
  
"So this is a pissing contest." Jamie spat, "I thought if Salva gets the maximum, everybody wins."  
  
All right, Jack thought, that's enough.   
  
"In my office, we don't hand off the ball, we run with it. Maureen Rankin was killed in our jurisdiction! Prosecuting her killer is our responsibility!"  
  
Jamie responded to his raised voice by walking out of the office and slamming the door. Claire would never pull something like that, Jack thought, she wouldn't even…  
  
Damn. Claire. He still had to go downstairs. Still had to try to convince an overworked, barely experienced ADA that Claire's life was worth more than one year in prison.  
  
In a perfect world, both Michael Kennedy and Fernando Salva would be strapped down on a gurney, he thought, then contradicted himself.  
  
In a perfect world, both Claire and Maureen Rankin would still be alive.  
  
  
  
Jamie didn't wait for Jack to come out of his office. Fine, she thought, if we're not going to turn the case over, we shouldn't have to take a plea bargain. She knew the detectives had already executed their search warrants; maybe it wouldn't hurt to go down to the twenty-seventh precinct and go over the evidence with them. She grabbed her briefcase and told Monica where she was going on the way out.  
  
  
  
"Come on in," Paige Kendall joked, "Have a seat."  
  
She grabbed a chair from the desk across from hers and turned it around so Jack could sit down. Jack could finally match a face to her voice, and she looked just as he had expected her to – young, blonde and innocent. If it hadn't been for the corn-fed Midwestern accent, she would have reminded Jack of his ex-wife. Maybe that was why he already didn't like her much.  
  
"Arlene told me the victim in the Kennedy case was someone from your office. I'm sorry."   
  
"I wanted to discuss the plea arrangement with you," Jack searched his brain for arguments, "I just don't think vehicular manslaughter is the way to go here."  
  
"What charge do you suggest?" She asked.  
  
"Murder two, depraved indifference. He got into a car knowing he was intoxicated, he should have known his actions could kill someone."  
  
"I can't prove that, Mr. McCoy. The fact that he was drunk mitigates his intent. I'm sure you know…"  
  
"Of course I know," Jack raised his voice, unaccustomed to being contradicted by an ADA who looked as if she were about sixteen, "I also know that it is still possible to prove…"  
  
"Then you know," She spoke over him, deliberately, "That this is what I have to work with. The charge fits the case, I'm sorry if you don't agree with that."  
  
Jack stood up and looked down at her.  
  
"I don't agree with that," He said sharply, "Not at all. I think you…"  
  
"Look," She stood up and looked at him with anger flashing in her eyes, "I don't care what you think. You can't just come down here and dictate to me! If you have a problem with my handling of this case, you take it up with Arlene."  
  
Jack leaned closer to her, "You can count on it."  
  
By this time, their discussion had grown so loud the other ADA's in the office had stopped working and were looking at them. Jack turned away from the stares and went back upstairs to his office, leaving a frustrated and shaky Paige behind him.  
  
  
  
"We tossed Salva's apartment and his fiancée's. No gun." Rey was explaining to Jamie while Jack was busy shouting loud enough for the entire fourth floor to hear.   
  
"The car was repainted," Jamie suggested, "I read in a forensics textbook last night that paint has unique characteristics."  
  
"Right," Lennie noted, "You can match it up to the manufacturer."  
  
"So if we knew who in Salva's neighborhood uses this paint, that might lead us to another witness."  
  
Lennie and Rey exchanged a look.  
  
"Well, not that we didn't think of that, but the lab says they're all backed up."  
  
Jamie nodded, and smiled.  
  
"Would a call from a judge's clerk help?" She asked.  
  
Lennie laughed a little and nodded, appreciating her nerve.  
  
"Consider it done," She said, gathering up her things, "See ya."  
  
As Jamie left, Rey watched her and turned back to his partner.  
  
"There's a lot to be said for pretty faces, Lennie."  
  
  
  
"Jack. Who the hell do you think you are? You are not in charge down here. This is my department. If you have a problem with one of my people, you talk to me."  
  
Jack felt a bit sheepish the next day when Arlene Wolensky called him down to her office. He still felt the plea agreement was wrong, but he regretted letting the conversation turn into a shouting match. If only Jamie hadn't… well, that was beside the point. The real problem was what it had been since that night, weeks before – that gnawing grief, that impassioned anger, that constant knowledge that everything important had ended, that time had stopped.   
  
It had stopped when Michael Kennedy decided to speed through a red light.   
  
"I'm sorry, Arlene," Jack apologized, "I know I was rough on her."  
  
"You were. You have to understand, Jack, that we've done what we can with this case. Take yourself out of it, you'll see what I mean."  
  
Jack nodded, and Arlene paused before going on.  
  
"I talked to Adam this morning."  
  
"Oh." Jack nodded again, this time with new understanding.  
  
"He told me that Ms. Kincaid was more than a co-worker, but that's all he would tell me." She said, gently.  
  
"She was." Jack acknowledged with some difficulty. The words caught in his throat.  
  
"I can only imagine what you're going through," Arlene said, using the practiced language she'd gained during her years with the DA's office, "But I'm standing behind Paige's decisions on the case, and she has accepted the plea bargain. Michael Kennedy is scheduled to allocute a week from today."  
  
"A week?"  
  
"Mmm-hmm," Arlene nodded, handing Jack a sheet of paper. At first he stared at it without recognizing the printed words – it was the standard form letter the office used to notify victims and victim's families of court proceedings.  
  
The simple act of handing him that letter, Jack realized, put him into that nameless, faceless group of people they so rarely saw and yet were supposed to be fighting for. He was standing on the other side of the system he immersed himself in each day, the imperfect system he had been trying so long to survive inside. Now Michael Kennedy, Paige Kendall and Arlene Wolensky had thrown him out of it, at least as far as this case was concerned.  
  
"Thank you, Arlene." Jack said, making a concerted effort to hide his feelings. In fact he was lost even within Arlene's tiny office, set adrift in familiar surroundings.   
  
"You're welcome," She said kindly, extending her hand to shake his. Jack shook her hand – an automatic gesture – and somehow found his way out of her office and back to his own.  
  
Jamie wasn't at her desk, and Jack stared at the empty space as if he expected Claire to come back – just for a moment, he believed she might. Just for a moment he could imagine her there, imagine her still filling his life with her presence.   
  
Now – Jack shook his head, trying to shake the feeling of disorientation that was attacking him. He was in control, wasn't he? He had to be. In control, always, of every situation. Crowded courtrooms during summations, conference rooms during plea negotiations, even in his past relationships.   
  
But it was harder now. It felt as if the wheels of his mind were grinding against each other in a struggle just to keep functioning.   
  
"Jack?"  
  
Jack turned at the sound of a woman's voice. In his state, he could imagine that voice belonged to…  
  
"Are you all right?" Jamie asked, and the sight of her concerned face brought Jack back to reality with a crash.  
  
"I'm fine." He said, trying to muster a smile for Jamie, who didn't look convinced.  
  
"Are you sure?" She asked. Jack nodded.  
  
"All right," Jamie watched him carefully as he walked back into his office.   
  
  
  
Late that night, Jack sat up in the darkened living room of his apartment with a glass of scotch in his hand. He had tried sleep, but that was a futile effort. Thankfully it was Friday – no, now it was Saturday – and tomorrow wouldn't demand much of him. There wasn't much he felt capable of doing.  
  
This late at night, it was easy to let go and remember. During the day he fought the constant reminders. Today had reminded him why – it was too easy to find yourself lost, out of control, standing on the precipice.   
  
But he understood why. Until Arlene had handed him that form he could pretend he was still himself, emotionally detached, out to prosecute Kennedy and put his two cents in for an appropriate sentence.  
  
Except he wasn't himself. He wasn't detached. He just wanted Kennedy to go away forever for one simple reason. The man had killed Claire.  
  
The man had killed Claire. The words didn't even feel real. Thinking them was unnatural; he couldn't even begin to imagine saying them out loud. To say someone had killed her would mean truly admitting she was dead, an admission he still wasn't ready to make.  
  
He remembered a night, maybe a few months before, when a dream about his father woke him in the middle of the night. The son of a bitch, pounding on the door of the basement, his mother in tears, holding on to the doorknob with one hand and his head with the other, begging him to leave them alone.  
  
When he'd startled awake, he woke up Claire, who gave him a look of concern and then, silently, rose and left the room. She came back with a glass of water and handed it to him, then climbed back into bed and slipped her arm around him. He pulled her close and lay back down, taking advantage of the simple comfort provided by her presence, the whole interaction conducted without a word. They didn't need to say anything. There was more than enough time to say something later. Time for all those thank yous and I love yous that they never said, a day, someday, when their shared talent for communication wouldn't falter miserably when it came to the things that were most important.  
  
Except now, there was no time. It was all over, just like that.  
  
Now the nightmares were different. And now, when he startled awake, there was nobody there.  
  
  
  
******************  
  
Note: Arlene Wolensky can be seen in the episode "Juvenile," and Dean Connors in "Star-Crossed." I hope they don't mind me borrowing them for this story. 


	3. For A Few Good Years

From There to Here

_Chapter 3: For a Few Good Years_

"The paint's an exact match, but Cervantes can't put him together with the car." Lennie explained to Jack and Jamie on the outside steps. 

"Not exactly a smoking gun," Jack commented.

"No," Rey said, "You had the smoking gun."

"Which was left in a muddy field for three days." Jack replied.

"I guess our screw-up was in finding it."

"Rey, cool it." Lennie interrupted, imploring his partner with his eyes to go a little easier on Jack. 

"Come on." Rey said in response to Lennie's look.

"The counselor's right, we messed up," Lennie said, knowing he'd have to explain that to Rey later.

"Group effort, detective," Jack said, "If Salva walks, we're all in for it."

"Unless we turn his fiancée." Jamie suggested.

"As far as I know, they haven't cancelled the wedding." Lennie said. 

"She picked out the paint color three days before the car was stolen. She knew what he was up to. It's enough to make her an accomplice."

The four of them all looked at each other, considering.

"At least for a grand jury," Jack agreed, "Pick her up. The charge is murder."

"Mercer wants to meet, first thing tomorrow morning." Jamie hung up the phone and turned to Jack.

"That's what I expected," He said, "We'll see what comes of it. Have you heard from Lucy Sullivan's lawyer lately?"

"Not since his formal request for our evidence," Jamie said, "I'm waiting to hear what he has to say."

Jack nodded and rubbed his forehead.

"All right," He said after a pause, "Let me know."

"This is getting out of hand," Abe Mercer blustered, "Next you'll be warming a bed in the geriatric ward for his grandmother."

"You can't get me, so you go after the women. Does that make you feel like you've got something between your legs?" Fernando Salva, obviously somewhat affected by his lawyer's bravado, sneered at Jack and Jamie.

"It doesn't give me the same rise you got from killing Maureen Rankin," Jack replied, "If you want to spare your fiancée, you know exactly what to do."

"He's not admitting to anything." 

"What about you, Ms. Galvez?" Jamie directed her question towards Ana Galvez, Salva's fiancée, who was sitting slumped in her chair, looking at her hands.

"She's not talking either." Mercer answered for her.

"Ms. Galvez," Jack said, "Unless you want to go down the same drain as Mr. Salva, I advise you to get your own lawyer," Jack said as he and Jamie rose to leave.

"Detective Briscoe, Detective Curtis. It's nice to see the two of you again. What brings you down here?" Jamie smiled as she greeted the two detectives, who were wearing sober looks that Friday morning, a few days later.

"We're meeting Jack," Lennie said.

"Oh. He told me he had a court proceeding this afternoon, that he wouldn't be in the office for most of the day."

"We know," Rey replied, "We're going with him."

Jamie nodded, mystified, as Jack came out of his office. 

"I'll be back later," He told Jamie, "Hold down the fort."

"I think I can manage a half a day." She smiled, and nodded goodbye to Jack and the detectives as they left, still as bewildered as ever by their tight-lipped attitudes.

"You do understand that your plea in this matter is equivalent to a jury's verdict of guilty?" The Judge asked Michael Kennedy. He hesitated a moment and glanced at Dean Connors, who nodded and nudged him.

"Um, yes, your honor." He said quietly.

"Miss Kendall, do the people wish to inquire?" The Judge looked over at Paige Kendall, who nodded and stood up, glancing nervously back at Jack, then over his head towards the door of the courtroom. When Jack followed her gaze, he saw Adam standing, arms folded, just to the side of the doorway. 

"Yes, your honor. Mr. Kennedy, please tell the court exactly what happened." She said.

"Um, well…" He hesitated again. He couldn't have been much older than about nineteen or twenty, and he looked uncomfortable in his suit and tie. He stood at least a foot taller than his attorney, and the contrast between short, pudgy Dean Connors and this lanky defendant would have been laughable had the situation been different.

"Um," He continued, "My friends and I went out drinking that night, and I had a few more than I should have, I was pretty wasted, and I didn't see that red light or that other car. And, um, I'm really sorry about the lady. I guess that's it." He shrugged his shoulders. 

"Miss Kendall, are the people satisfied?"

No! No, we aren't. Somebody say something, somebody do something, this can't be all there is! Jack thought, fighting back the urge to stand. Lennie – who had been in the car, yet wasn't mentioned in Kennedy's eloquent allocution – reached over and patted Jack's shoulder.

"Yes, your honor." Paige answered.

"Very well then. In accordance with your plea agreement with the district attorney's office, I hereby sentence you to a term of no less than one year, and not more than three years, in a facility to be determined by the department of corrections. The defendant is remanded, and this court is adjourned."

Jack heard the door of the courtroom open and close as the judge banged her gavel. He watched the bailiff taking Michael Kennedy away.

"Jack." Lennie nudged him, and he turned to look at Paige, who was standing before him in the aisle, clutching her briefcase to her chest in an almost defensive gesture.

"I'm sorry, Mr. McCoy," She said, "I know it wasn't what you wanted."

He just looked at her before following Lennie and Rey out of the courtroom.

"I don't understand what's taking so long, I mean, you have the right guy, don't you?"

"Yes, we do." Jamie answered patiently. Mr. Rankin had called and asked to meet with Jack, but since he wasn't available, Jamie had asked him to come in anyway and talk to her. 

"I see him on television with his lawyer, that superior look on his face, and I want to just… I want that punk dead, Ms. Ross, and I want to do it myself, you know?" He sighed before continuing, "I hate what this is doing to me."

"I understand that feeling, Mr. Rankin. But he's not your responsibility. We'll take care of him." She said.

As Jamie walked Mr. Rankin out of the conference room, she spotted Jack walking up from the elevators. He had his jacket slung over one arm, as if whatever he'd been doing that day had worn him out.

"Someone will call you as soon as we have a trial date." She said to Mr. Rankin.

"I appreciate that. Thank you." He said. Jamie watched him leave and she watched Jack follow her over to her desk.

"The part of the job they don't train you for," Jack said, "Looks like you handled it well."

"It's not hard once you identify with their hate." Jamie said, and the statement took Jack by surprise. He could certainly identify with their hate, especially after what had gone on in that courtroom today, but he wasn't expecting that from Jamie.

"What?" He asked.

"Neil and I had a client. James Karper. A sex murderer? While the DA's describing the crime to the jury, Karper gets an erection Barnum and Bailey could have pitched a tent on. I threw my coat over his lap so the jury wouldn't notice."

"I remember the case," Jack nodded, "Karper walked."

"Yeah, even though his DNA was all over the crime scene." Jamie paused, thinking of her ex-husband, "Neil built his practice on the infallibility of DNA evidence. Then he met Karper's trust fund. New tune? DNA's unreliable. The jury acquits."

"And three months later, Karper killed again."

"I believe in monsters and things that go bump in the night, Jack. May they rot in hell, along with their attorneys."

Amen to that, Jack thought, may they all rot in hell, from Dean Connors and Paige Kendall to Arlene Wolensky and Michael Kennedy. Especially him. 

"I got a call from Marcy Wrightman. As of this morning, she represents Ana Galvez." Jack said.

"Looks like the wedding's off." Jamie reached for the phone to call Marcy Wrightman and Jack glanced at her as he walked back into his office, with some new understanding of his new assistant.

But once he was in his office, his concern for Jamie faded. He found himself replaying the plea allocution in his head.

What was it he had told Claire, ages ago, during one of their all-too frequent debates on the death penalty? 

"Vengeance is a normal human instinct, and there's no need to apologize for it."

Those words had been so damn easy to say, Jack thought. So easy to stand around and moralize when you are not the one with a gnawing ache in your heart, facing the man who killed one of the most important people in your life. Vengeance is suddenly no longer an abstract concept, and the desire for it means you must use every ounce of strength you have not to strangle that man at the defendant's table. 

He knew now how some of the victim's families he had seen over the years felt when they spoke to him – and how he had treated them much the same way Paige Kendall had treated him – with platitudes and manufactured sympathy. The funny thing was, for so long he thought he was sympathetic, he was as understanding as he could be. He now realized just how far off he had been. 

Arlene was right, Paige hadn't done anything wrong. From a strictly legal standpoint, the plea bargain was exactly what he would have advised any of his own assistants to do. But sitting there, listening to Michael Kennedy describe how he killed someone – and he didn't even know her name! – he knew for the first time how it felt to sit in a courtroom, knowing that man killed someone – someone beautiful, and smart, and loved – and all he would serve was twelve months in jail. That was less than half a month for each of Claire's twenty-nine years.

It wasn't enough. It wasn't nearly enough. 

So what to do now? Jack changed his clothes and said good night to Jamie. There was only one thing he could think of. 

"Lennie?" Anita poked her head through the door of her office. Lennie sighed and followed her inside.

"How did the allocution go?" She asked.

"About what you'd expect," Lennie replied.

"How is Jack holding up?"

"About what you'd expect," Lennie repeated, and Anita smiled.

"Go home, Lennie," She said, waving him away, "Have a good night."

Lennie nodded and walked back out to his desk, where Rey was talking on the phone.

"I'll be home soon, sweetheart," He was saying, "Yes, Daddy will read you _Goodnight, Moon, again tonight. I promise. All right. Put your mommy back on the phone. Yeah. I'll be home soon. Did you need me to pick up anything?" Rey wrote a few things down on a notepad, "All right, milk, eggs and cereal. See you soon. Love you."_

He hung up the phone and pulled his jacket on.

"What did you think of what happened today?" He asked Lennie, who shrugged.

"I think it's a joke," Lennie said.

"Me too. You want to come with me? You can read _Goodnight, Moon_ to the girls. That story puts me to sleep."

"Nah, I had some paperwork I wanted to finish before I call it a night. Say hello to everyone for me."

"I will. Good night."

Lennie let a few moments pass before he started in on his forms, enjoying the quiet. It was rare for the squad room to be this quiet, but it was a nice change. As he worked, his mind wandered back to the courtroom scene that afternoon.

"I guess that's it." That was all he had to say? Although the memory was still fuzzy around the edges, Lennie clearly remembered the screeching, the sound of metal against metal, the bright light flashing. And that was all this mope could come up with? "I'm really sorry about the lady?" It was only pure dumb luck that he hadn't killed more people. It was only a trick of a few mathematical equations that meant Lennie was still here and Claire wasn't.

Maybe, Lennie thought, if I'd been sober I would have seen the other car coming. Of course, if I'd stayed out of the bar in the first place, everything would have been different.

The phone rang, echoing loudly in the quiet room. Lennie watched it for a moment, wondering if he should answer it.

The phone rang again.

"Detective Briscoe." He said.

"Yeah, Lennie, it's me," Said the voice on the other end, and Lennie's heart sank. It was Jack's voice, but it wasn't Jack's voice.

"Counselor," Lennie said, "Where are you?"

"Oh, it's a great place, you should come down here and join me. Drink whatever it is you drink these days." Jack slurred into the phone, and Lennie gritted his teeth. Great way to react, Jack, he thought, go and get rip-roaring, stinking drunk.

"Be glad to," He said, forcing cheerfulness into his voice, "Where are you?"

"Oh, you're a detective, you figure it out."

The phone went dead, and Lennie sighed and grabbed his jacket. He had a good idea where Jack was.

The place hadn't changed, Lennie thought as he walked in the door and scanned the crowded room. Of course it hadn't changed – it hadn't been that long. Funny how that night seemed like a million years ago, how everything could change so fast. Somehow he had even been expecting the bar to look different, but of course it didn't. 

The Friday night crowd made it impossible to see Jack from the door. Lennie found his way to the bar and signaled for the bartender's attention.

"Yeah, buddy, what can I get you?" The bartender asked.

"I'm looking for someone." Lennie said, and the bartender snorted.

"Yeah, aren't we all. You want a drink or not?"

"Never mind," Lennie said, catching sight of Jack from the corner of his eye, "I found him."

Jack was sitting on a barstool in the corner, talking to someone Lennie didn't recognize. Even at a glance he could tell Jack probably didn't know this guy either – they had just struck up one of those long conversations that happen between strangers who spend Friday nights in bars. By the end of the night they'd be promising lifelong friendship, but on Saturday morning, they wouldn't remember each other's names.

"Lennie," Jack slurred when he saw him, "What are you doing here?"

"You called me." Lennie said.

"I did, didn't I? Forgot all about it. Lennie, meet Joe. Joe, this is Detective Briscoe."

Joe, who was so drunk he had trouble focusing his eyes, held out his hand to Lennie.

"Nice to meet you, detective," He said.

"This man here," Jack said, giving Joe a pat on the back that almost knocked the man off his barstool, "He lost his wife a year ago."

"Cancer," Joe said, looking up at Lennie, "Just like that. You married?"

"Was. Both of my exes are glad it's past tense." He replied, glancing over at Jack. 

"She was a bitch," Joe slurred, "Always on me about this, and that… thought I hated her. I'd work all day, come home, have a beer, she'd be on me… then she's gone, and I miss her. Funny how that works." He gazed into his empty glass, bleary eyed.

"Yeah," Jack agreed, "Funny how that works." He took another drink, emptying his glass down his throat.

"Hey, Jack, come on. I'll give you a ride home." Lennie said, placing his hand over Jack's to keep him from ordering again.

"Trying to redeem yourself, detective?" Jack said, nailing Lennie with a drunken stare. Lennie's first instinct was to let go of Jack's hand and let him do whatever he wanted. Let the man drink himself into a coma, who cared? One less lawyer in the world…

No. She was trying to help me, Lennie thought, I owe it to her to do the same. 

"Nah," He said to Jack, "I'm just trying to spare some cab driver the joy of listening to you."

Jack gave a sarcastic, snorting laugh, but he reached for his jacket. As Lennie led him, stumbling and weaving, out the door, he sighed.

I'm doing this for you, kiddo, he thought, not for him but for you.

Jack was lucid enough to give Lennie directions back to his apartment, but not nearly coordinated enough to figure out how to get his key in the front door lock – Lennie had to do that for him. 

"All right, Jack, here we are," Lennie opened the door, and Jack fumbled with a light switch, turning the living room light on and then off again. Lennie followed his hand and flipped the switch back on.

"Thank you for the ride, detective," Jack slurred, "I appreciate it. See, now, we both made it here alive. That's an improvement, isn't it?"

Lennie decided not to say what he was thinking. Why make trouble?

"Well, if you're all right I'll say goodnight, then." Lennie said, starting for the door.

"What did you think about it?" Jack sat down on one of the chairs in the living room and attempted – with some difficulty – to take off his shoes, "What did you think of what you saw today?"

"The plea-bargain, you mean?"

"What else?"

"I didn't think it was right." Lennie admitted, "But I usually don't."

"Believe it or not, I don't either. You do the best you can with what you've got, all that crap." He leaned his head against the side of the chair.

"Part of your job." Lennie replied. Jack looked up at him, clear eyed for a moment.

"He took everything from me, Lennie. Everything."

With that, Jack stood up and unsteadily made his way to an open door on the other side of the room – Lennie hadn't been in his apartment before, but he could guess the door led to a bedroom – and shut it behind him, leaving Lennie alone in the living room. Lennie knew the proper thing to do would have been to just call goodbye and leave, but he couldn't resist the opportunity to look around. 

It was just as he'd expected, really – small, somewhat cluttered, with bookshelves everywhere. A bachelor's apartment, much like his own, a place no one spent or expected to spend that much time in. 

Lennie noticed a shelf along one side of the room that had been decorated with family photographs, one of the few personal touches visible in the apartment. He glanced at the photos, which were carefully arranged in their frames. One was of a smiling young woman, a posed portrait. Lennie had seen the similar photographs of his own daughters, the ones they'd had him shell out three hundred dollars for when they graduated high school. He had two of them in his wallet right now, as a matter of fact. This girl was obviously Jack's daughter – she had his eyes, his smile. The photo next to her was a 1940's-vintage portrait of another young woman. Lennie guessed that face belonged to Jack's mother, also going by the resemblance. A few more nondescript family photos could be any number of anonymous relatives. 

The careful layout of the frames on the shelf was somehow asymmetrical, Lennie noticed, as if a picture had been moved, a gap in the perfectly organized display. A quick glance at the bookshelf under the photographs revealed the missing frame – it was tucked, face down, on top of a row of books.

The detective in Lennie reached in and pulled the frame from it's hiding place. He turned it over and looked at the picture.

At first glance it looked like a vacation snapshot – he saw Jack, dressed casually, leaning his weight back against a fence surrounding a fountain. Where it was exactly, Lennie had no idea. He was pretty sure the photo hadn't been taken in New York, but there was a whole world outside the borders of Manhattan. Jack's attention, in the photo, was not directed towards the camera, but towards the person standing next to him – a woman, her mouth open in such a wide smile it looked as if someone had told her a joke at the exact moment the shutter snapped. She was brushing her black hair away from her face with one hand, but her eyes were focused on the camera. 

It took Lennie a moment to recognize her – she looked so different than he was used to seeing her, all polished and done up perfectly in those lawyer suits she had to wear. Claire's eyes were hard to miss, though, and Lennie felt a tightness in his throat as he looked at her.

The photo, Lennie realized, was the only obvious sign of their relationship, and Jack had taken special care to turn it upside down and shove it into a bookshelf. Except for what he had just said, he hadn't even mentioned Claire – even in his anger over Michael Kennedy's plea-bargain, he hadn't said her name once. 

Lennie had guessed at their relationship long before he'd said anything about it – he could see it in the way they looked at each other. But he had never seen Jack look at Claire the way he was looking at her in that photo – with a sense of awe, almost, as if he couldn't believe this woman was standing next to him. 

Lennie knew that look, and he knew men didn't look at women that way without a good reason. Had he ever looked at his wives that way? Maybe a girlfriend, maybe once. 

Lennie slid the frame back on top of the books, in between _Supreme Court Decisions, 1965-1969_ and _New York__State__ Appellate Division Rulings, 1994. He felt a little uneasy about taking advantage of Jack's condition to snoop around, and he decided the best thing to do would be to leave, now. He made sure the door locked behind him as he left. _

Once he was back out on the street, Lennie had to stop to take a breath. Until now he hadn't honestly considered the possibility that Jack's anger may have come from something other than a person he cared about being smashed into by a drunk and getting no significant jail time, as if that wasn't enough. Now he understood more than he wanted to know – whatever had been going on between those two, it was more than he had ever suspected. No matter how drunk Jack was, he meant what he had said. Michael Kennedy had taken everything from him. 

  


_Chapter 3: For a Few Good Years_

"The paint's an exact match, but Cervantes can't put him together with the car." Lennie explained to Jack and Jamie on the outside steps. 

"Not exactly a smoking gun," Jack commented.

"No," Rey said, "You had the smoking gun."

"Which was left in a muddy field for three days." Jack replied.

"I guess our screw-up was in finding it."

"Rey, cool it." Lennie interrupted, imploring his partner with his eyes to go a little easier on Jack. 

"Come on." Rey said in response to Lennie's look.

"The counselor's right, we messed up," Lennie said, knowing he'd have to explain that to Rey later.

"Group effort, detective," Jack said, "If Salva walks, we're all in for it."

"Unless we turn his fiancée." Jamie suggested.

"As far as I know, they haven't cancelled the wedding." Lennie said. 

"She picked out the paint color three days before the car was stolen. She knew what he was up to. It's enough to make her an accomplice."

The four of them all looked at each other, considering.

"At least for a grand jury," Jack agreed, "Pick her up. The charge is murder."

"Mercer wants to meet, first thing tomorrow morning." Jamie hung up the phone and turned to Jack.

"That's what I expected," He said, "We'll see what comes of it. Have you heard from Lucy Sullivan's lawyer lately?"

"Not since his formal request for our evidence," Jamie said, "I'm waiting to hear what he has to say."

Jack nodded and rubbed his forehead.

"All right," He said after a pause, "Let me know."

"This is getting out of hand," Abe Mercer blustered, "Next you'll be warming a bed in the geriatric ward for his grandmother."

"You can't get me, so you go after the women. Does that make you feel like you've got something between your legs?" Fernando Salva, obviously somewhat affected by his lawyer's bravado, sneered at Jack and Jamie.

"It doesn't give me the same rise you got from killing Maureen Rankin," Jack replied, "If you want to spare your fiancée, you know exactly what to do."

"He's not admitting to anything." 

"What about you, Ms. Galvez?" Jamie directed her question towards Ana Galvez, Salva's fiancée, who was sitting slumped in her chair, looking at her hands.

"She's not talking either." Mercer answered for her.

"Ms. Galvez," Jack said, "Unless you want to go down the same drain as Mr. Salva, I advise you to get your own lawyer," Jack said as he and Jamie rose to leave.

"Detective Briscoe, Detective Curtis. It's nice to see the two of you again. What brings you down here?" Jamie smiled as she greeted the two detectives, who were wearing sober looks that Friday morning, a few days later.

"We're meeting Jack," Lennie said.

"Oh. He told me he had a court proceeding this afternoon, that he wouldn't be in the office for most of the day."

"We know," Rey replied, "We're going with him."

Jamie nodded, mystified, as Jack came out of his office. 

"I'll be back later," He told Jamie, "Hold down the fort."

"I think I can manage a half a day." She smiled, and nodded goodbye to Jack and the detectives as they left, still as bewildered as ever by their tight-lipped attitudes.

"You do understand that your plea in this matter is equivalent to a jury's verdict of guilty?" The Judge asked Michael Kennedy. He hesitated a moment and glanced at Dean Connors, who nodded and nudged him.

"Um, yes, your honor." He said quietly.

"Miss Kendall, do the people wish to inquire?" The Judge looked over at Paige Kendall, who nodded and stood up, glancing nervously back at Jack, then over his head towards the door of the courtroom. When Jack followed her gaze, he saw Adam standing, arms folded, just to the side of the doorway. 

"Yes, your honor. Mr. Kennedy, please tell the court exactly what happened." She said.

"Um, well…" He hesitated again. He couldn't have been much older than about nineteen or twenty, and he looked uncomfortable in his suit and tie. He stood at least a foot taller than his attorney, and the contrast between short, pudgy Dean Connors and this lanky defendant would have been laughable had the situation been different.

"Um," He continued, "My friends and I went out drinking that night, and I had a few more than I should have, I was pretty wasted, and I didn't see that red light or that other car. And, um, I'm really sorry about the lady. I guess that's it." He shrugged his shoulders. 

"Miss Kendall, are the people satisfied?"

No! No, we aren't. Somebody say something, somebody do something, this can't be all there is! Jack thought, fighting back the urge to stand. Lennie – who had been in the car, yet wasn't mentioned in Kennedy's eloquent allocution – reached over and patted Jack's shoulder.

"Yes, your honor." Paige answered.

"Very well then. In accordance with your plea agreement with the district attorney's office, I hereby sentence you to a term of no less than one year, and not more than three years, in a facility to be determined by the department of corrections. The defendant is remanded, and this court is adjourned."

Jack heard the door of the courtroom open and close as the judge banged her gavel. He watched the bailiff taking Michael Kennedy away.

"Jack." Lennie nudged him, and he turned to look at Paige, who was standing before him in the aisle, clutching her briefcase to her chest in an almost defensive gesture.

"I'm sorry, Mr. McCoy," She said, "I know it wasn't what you wanted."

He just looked at her before following Lennie and Rey out of the courtroom.

"I don't understand what's taking so long, I mean, you have the right guy, don't you?"

"Yes, we do." Jamie answered patiently. Mr. Rankin had called and asked to meet with Jack, but since he wasn't available, Jamie had asked him to come in anyway and talk to her. 

"I see him on television with his lawyer, that superior look on his face, and I want to just… I want that punk dead, Ms. Ross, and I want to do it myself, you know?" He sighed before continuing, "I hate what this is doing to me."

"I understand that feeling, Mr. Rankin. But he's not your responsibility. We'll take care of him." She said.

As Jamie walked Mr. Rankin out of the conference room, she spotted Jack walking up from the elevators. He had his jacket slung over one arm, as if whatever he'd been doing that day had worn him out.

"Someone will call you as soon as we have a trial date." She said to Mr. Rankin.

"I appreciate that. Thank you." He said. Jamie watched him leave and she watched Jack follow her over to her desk.

"The part of the job they don't train you for," Jack said, "Looks like you handled it well."

"It's not hard once you identify with their hate." Jamie said, and the statement took Jack by surprise. He could certainly identify with their hate, especially after what had gone on in that courtroom today, but he wasn't expecting that from Jamie.

"What?" He asked.

"Neil and I had a client. James Karper. A sex murderer? While the DA's describing the crime to the jury, Karper gets an erection Barnum and Bailey could have pitched a tent on. I threw my coat over his lap so the jury wouldn't notice."

"I remember the case," Jack nodded, "Karper walked."

"Yeah, even though his DNA was all over the crime scene." Jamie paused, thinking of her ex-husband, "Neil built his practice on the infallibility of DNA evidence. Then he met Karper's trust fund. New tune? DNA's unreliable. The jury acquits."

"And three months later, Karper killed again."

"I believe in monsters and things that go bump in the night, Jack. May they rot in hell, along with their attorneys."

Amen to that, Jack thought, may they all rot in hell, from Dean Connors and Paige Kendall to Arlene Wolensky and Michael Kennedy. Especially him. 

"I got a call from Marcy Wrightman. As of this morning, she represents Ana Galvez." Jack said.

"Looks like the wedding's off." Jamie reached for the phone to call Marcy Wrightman and Jack glanced at her as he walked back into his office, with some new understanding of his new assistant.

But once he was in his office, his concern for Jamie faded. He found himself replaying the plea allocution in his head.

What was it he had told Claire, ages ago, during one of their all-too frequent debates on the death penalty? 

"Vengeance is a normal human instinct, and there's no need to apologize for it."

Those words had been so damn easy to say, Jack thought. So easy to stand around and moralize when you are not the one with a gnawing ache in your heart, facing the man who killed one of the most important people in your life. Vengeance is suddenly no longer an abstract concept, and the desire for it means you must use every ounce of strength you have not to strangle that man at the defendant's table. 

He knew now how some of the victim's families he had seen over the years felt when they spoke to him – and how he had treated them much the same way Paige Kendall had treated him – with platitudes and manufactured sympathy. The funny thing was, for so long he thought he was sympathetic, he was as understanding as he could be. He now realized just how far off he had been. 

Arlene was right, Paige hadn't done anything wrong. From a strictly legal standpoint, the plea bargain was exactly what he would have advised any of his own assistants to do. But sitting there, listening to Michael Kennedy describe how he killed someone – and he didn't even know her name! – he knew for the first time how it felt to sit in a courtroom, knowing that man killed someone – someone beautiful, and smart, and loved – and all he would serve was twelve months in jail. That was less than half a month for each of Claire's twenty-nine years.

It wasn't enough. It wasn't nearly enough. 

So what to do now? Jack changed his clothes and said good night to Jamie. There was only one thing he could think of. 

"Lennie?" Anita poked her head through the door of her office. Lennie sighed and followed her inside.

"How did the allocution go?" She asked.

"About what you'd expect," Lennie replied.

"How is Jack holding up?"

"About what you'd expect," Lennie repeated, and Anita smiled.

"Go home, Lennie," She said, waving him away, "Have a good night."

Lennie nodded and walked back out to his desk, where Rey was talking on the phone.

"I'll be home soon, sweetheart," He was saying, "Yes, Daddy will read you _Goodnight, Moon, again tonight. I promise. All right. Put your mommy back on the phone. Yeah. I'll be home soon. Did you need me to pick up anything?" Rey wrote a few things down on a notepad, "All right, milk, eggs and cereal. See you soon. Love you."_

He hung up the phone and pulled his jacket on.

"What did you think of what happened today?" He asked Lennie, who shrugged.

"I think it's a joke," Lennie said.

"Me too. You want to come with me? You can read _Goodnight, Moon_ to the girls. That story puts me to sleep."

"Nah, I had some paperwork I wanted to finish before I call it a night. Say hello to everyone for me."

"I will. Good night."

Lennie let a few moments pass before he started in on his forms, enjoying the quiet. It was rare for the squad room to be this quiet, but it was a nice change. As he worked, his mind wandered back to the courtroom scene that afternoon.

"I guess that's it." That was all he had to say? Although the memory was still fuzzy around the edges, Lennie clearly remembered the screeching, the sound of metal against metal, the bright light flashing. And that was all this mope could come up with? "I'm really sorry about the lady?" It was only pure dumb luck that he hadn't killed more people. It was only a trick of a few mathematical equations that meant Lennie was still here and Claire wasn't.

Maybe, Lennie thought, if I'd been sober I would have seen the other car coming. Of course, if I'd stayed out of the bar in the first place, everything would have been different.

The phone rang, echoing loudly in the quiet room. Lennie watched it for a moment, wondering if he should answer it.

The phone rang again.

"Detective Briscoe." He said.

"Yeah, Lennie, it's me," Said the voice on the other end, and Lennie's heart sank. It was Jack's voice, but it wasn't Jack's voice.

"Counselor," Lennie said, "Where are you?"

"Oh, it's a great place, you should come down here and join me. Drink whatever it is you drink these days." Jack slurred into the phone, and Lennie gritted his teeth. Great way to react, Jack, he thought, go and get rip-roaring, stinking drunk.

"Be glad to," He said, forcing cheerfulness into his voice, "Where are you?"

"Oh, you're a detective, you figure it out."

The phone went dead, and Lennie sighed and grabbed his jacket. He had a good idea where Jack was.

The place hadn't changed, Lennie thought as he walked in the door and scanned the crowded room. Of course it hadn't changed – it hadn't been that long. Funny how that night seemed like a million years ago, how everything could change so fast. Somehow he had even been expecting the bar to look different, but of course it didn't. 

The Friday night crowd made it impossible to see Jack from the door. Lennie found his way to the bar and signaled for the bartender's attention.

"Yeah, buddy, what can I get you?" The bartender asked.

"I'm looking for someone." Lennie said, and the bartender snorted.

"Yeah, aren't we all. You want a drink or not?"

"Never mind," Lennie said, catching sight of Jack from the corner of his eye, "I found him."

Jack was sitting on a barstool in the corner, talking to someone Lennie didn't recognize. Even at a glance he could tell Jack probably didn't know this guy either – they had just struck up one of those long conversations that happen between strangers who spend Friday nights in bars. By the end of the night they'd be promising lifelong friendship, but on Saturday morning, they wouldn't remember each other's names.

"Lennie," Jack slurred when he saw him, "What are you doing here?"

"You called me." Lennie said.

"I did, didn't I? Forgot all about it. Lennie, meet Joe. Joe, this is Detective Briscoe."

Joe, who was so drunk he had trouble focusing his eyes, held out his hand to Lennie.

"Nice to meet you, detective," He said.

"This man here," Jack said, giving Joe a pat on the back that almost knocked the man off his barstool, "He lost his wife a year ago."

"Cancer," Joe said, looking up at Lennie, "Just like that. You married?"

"Was. Both of my exes are glad it's past tense." He replied, glancing over at Jack. 

"She was a bitch," Joe slurred, "Always on me about this, and that… thought I hated her. I'd work all day, come home, have a beer, she'd be on me… then she's gone, and I miss her. Funny how that works." He gazed into his empty glass, bleary eyed.

"Yeah," Jack agreed, "Funny how that works." He took another drink, emptying his glass down his throat.

"Hey, Jack, come on. I'll give you a ride home." Lennie said, placing his hand over Jack's to keep him from ordering again.

"Trying to redeem yourself, detective?" Jack said, nailing Lennie with a drunken stare. Lennie's first instinct was to let go of Jack's hand and let him do whatever he wanted. Let the man drink himself into a coma, who cared? One less lawyer in the world…

No. She was trying to help me, Lennie thought, I owe it to her to do the same. 

"Nah," He said to Jack, "I'm just trying to spare some cab driver the joy of listening to you."

Jack gave a sarcastic, snorting laugh, but he reached for his jacket. As Lennie led him, stumbling and weaving, out the door, he sighed.

I'm doing this for you, kiddo, he thought, not for him but for you.

Jack was lucid enough to give Lennie directions back to his apartment, but not nearly coordinated enough to figure out how to get his key in the front door lock – Lennie had to do that for him. 

"All right, Jack, here we are," Lennie opened the door, and Jack fumbled with a light switch, turning the living room light on and then off again. Lennie followed his hand and flipped the switch back on.

"Thank you for the ride, detective," Jack slurred, "I appreciate it. See, now, we both made it here alive. That's an improvement, isn't it?"

Lennie decided not to say what he was thinking. Why make trouble?

"Well, if you're all right I'll say goodnight, then." Lennie said, starting for the door.

"What did you think about it?" Jack sat down on one of the chairs in the living room and attempted – with some difficulty – to take off his shoes, "What did you think of what you saw today?"

"The plea-bargain, you mean?"

"What else?"

"I didn't think it was right." Lennie admitted, "But I usually don't."

"Believe it or not, I don't either. You do the best you can with what you've got, all that crap." He leaned his head against the side of the chair.

"Part of your job." Lennie replied. Jack looked up at him, clear eyed for a moment.

"He took everything from me, Lennie. Everything."

With that, Jack stood up and unsteadily made his way to an open door on the other side of the room – Lennie hadn't been in his apartment before, but he could guess the door led to a bedroom – and shut it behind him, leaving Lennie alone in the living room. Lennie knew the proper thing to do would have been to just call goodbye and leave, but he couldn't resist the opportunity to look around. 

It was just as he'd expected, really – small, somewhat cluttered, with bookshelves everywhere. A bachelor's apartment, much like his own, a place no one spent or expected to spend that much time in. 

Lennie noticed a shelf along one side of the room that had been decorated with family photographs, one of the few personal touches visible in the apartment. He glanced at the photos, which were carefully arranged in their frames. One was of a smiling young woman, a posed portrait. Lennie had seen the similar photographs of his own daughters, the ones they'd had him shell out three hundred dollars for when they graduated high school. He had two of them in his wallet right now, as a matter of fact. This girl was obviously Jack's daughter – she had his eyes, his smile. The photo next to her was a 1940's-vintage portrait of another young woman. Lennie guessed that face belonged to Jack's mother, also going by the resemblance. A few more nondescript family photos could be any number of anonymous relatives. 

The careful layout of the frames on the shelf was somehow asymmetrical, Lennie noticed, as if a picture had been moved, a gap in the perfectly organized display. A quick glance at the bookshelf under the photographs revealed the missing frame – it was tucked, face down, on top of a row of books.

The detective in Lennie reached in and pulled the frame from it's hiding place. He turned it over and looked at the picture.

At first glance it looked like a vacation snapshot – he saw Jack, dressed casually, leaning his weight back against a fence surrounding a fountain. Where it was exactly, Lennie had no idea. He was pretty sure the photo hadn't been taken in New York, but there was a whole world outside the borders of Manhattan. Jack's attention, in the photo, was not directed towards the camera, but towards the person standing next to him – a woman, her mouth open in such a wide smile it looked as if someone had told her a joke at the exact moment the shutter snapped. She was brushing her black hair away from her face with one hand, but her eyes were focused on the camera. 

It took Lennie a moment to recognize her – she looked so different than he was used to seeing her, all polished and done up perfectly in those lawyer suits she had to wear. Claire's eyes were hard to miss, though, and Lennie felt a tightness in his throat as he looked at her.

The photo, Lennie realized, was the only obvious sign of their relationship, and Jack had taken special care to turn it upside down and shove it into a bookshelf. Except for what he had just said, he hadn't even mentioned Claire – even in his anger over Michael Kennedy's plea-bargain, he hadn't said her name once. 

Lennie had guessed at their relationship long before he'd said anything about it – he could see it in the way they looked at each other. But he had never seen Jack look at Claire the way he was looking at her in that photo – with a sense of awe, almost, as if he couldn't believe this woman was standing next to him. 

Lennie knew that look, and he knew men didn't look at women that way without a good reason. Had he ever looked at his wives that way? Maybe a girlfriend, maybe once. 

Lennie slid the frame back on top of the books, in between _Supreme Court Decisions, 1965-1969_ and _New York__State__ Appellate Division Rulings, 1994. He felt a little uneasy about taking advantage of Jack's condition to snoop around, and he decided the best thing to do would be to leave, now. He made sure the door locked behind him as he left. _

Once he was back out on the street, Lennie had to stop to take a breath. Until now he hadn't honestly considered the possibility that Jack's anger may have come from something other than a person he cared about being smashed into by a drunk and getting no significant jail time, as if that wasn't enough. Now he understood more than he wanted to know – whatever had been going on between those two, it was more than he had ever suspected. No matter how drunk Jack was, he meant what he had said. Michael Kennedy had taken everything from him. 

  



	4. Walk Through the Old Routines

From There to Here

_Chapter 4: Walk Through the Old Routines_

"Marcy Wrightman is coming in at 9:30," Jamie told Jack, "And here's a copy of the research I started on the Sullivan case."

Jack took the file Jamie handed him, "Anything else?"

"No, that's it." She said, smiling as brightly as Monday morning allowed, "How was your weekend?" 

What a question, Jack thought, but he knew she didn't expect much of an answer.

"Not bad," He said, "Yours?"

"I took my daughter to the zoo on Saturday. It was such a nice day, I thought I'd take advantage of the warm weather while we still have it." Jamie replied.

"How old is she?" Jack asked.

"Three."

"They're fun at that age." Jack agreed.

"Do you have any children?" Jamie asked, surprised. The tone in his voice indicated he did, but he hadn't mentioned it up until this moment.

"I have a daughter. She's nineteen." Jack said.

"Oh. So at least you survived the teenage years," Jamie joked, and Jack half-smiled.

"It was easy," He said, "She lives with her mother in San Diego."

"Oh." Jamie repeated, not sure how to reply to that. Jack pulled a file from the stack on his desk and began working, a sure indication the conversation was over, and Jamie headed for the door. As she was about to leave, Jack looked up.

"Let me know as soon as they get here," He said. Jamie nodded.

"I'm not going to bore you with a lot of talk about soul-searching and heartbreak. Ana spent a week in prison, it was enough."

"We're listening, Ms. Wrightman," Jack said.

"Salva told her where he hid the gun he used. She talks, she walks."

Are you kidding, Jamie thought, "Maybe you didn't read the case file. Mrs. Rankin wasn't shot."

Marcy Wrightman looked at Jamie.

"He struck her with a butt. All the evidence you need is on the gun. But first, all the charges against Ana disappear."

"After she testifies in court." Jack responded.

"No way. I'm not talking against Fernando to his face. I'll tell you where the gun is, but that's it." Ana Galvez spoke up, and Jamie looked over at Jack. I don't feel right about this, she thought, trying to convey that to Jack with her eyes.

"Okay, deal." Jack said, "Provided the gun conclusively links Salva to the murder."

Jamie took down the information Ana gave them, and Jack rose to show Marcy and Ana out. As he shut the door behind them, Jamie turned to look at him.

"That's it?" She asked.

"That's all we were after, wasn't it?" Jack sat back down at his desk.

"I'll get this over to Briscoe and Curtis." Jamie gathered her paperwork and gave Jack a sideways glance as she walked out of the office. 

So many deals, Jack thought, some days I feel like a merchant at an Arabian bazaar. I'll give a little if you give a little, and let's hope the whole system doesn't collapse when we give too much.

Adam was a big fan of making deals. What was it Claire had said? 

"My mistake was following your lead, Mr. Schiff. I cut a deal the way you like them, quick, cheap and out the door."

She had punctuated that statement by walking out and slamming the office door behind her, Jack remembered – could it have been only a few months ago? Barely even that long. His sense of time was still warped, the confusion of days, nights, weeks, months – he had once been on top of everything, now even remembering it was Monday was difficult.

Every day, he thought suddenly, is going to be just like this one. Come to work, pay attention to suspects and evidence and case law and statutes, pretend that there's something left in this. Pretend that you actually care what happens. 

But every day, for the rest of your life, you'll know. She will never walk in that door again. You will never, ever have her back. 

So what does it matter anymore what day it is?

Jamie had already talked to the detectives at the twenty-seventh precinct and was on her way back to her desk when Monica handed her an envelope, wrapped in the familiar blue paper of a court notice.

"What is it?" She asked, "And where's Jack?"

"In Mr. Schiff's office." Monica replied, turning back to her computer screen.

"It's a motion to suppress the gun found in William Dunbar's apartment." Jamie read out loud, dismayed. Monica just nodded without even looking up from her typing. Jamie realized the assistant had no idea what she was talking about, and she hurried over to Adam's office to find Jack.

"Sisters killing sisters. Haven't seen that for a week or two." Adam commented as he looked over the case file.

"Good, there'll be a place for this one at Bedford Hills." Jack replied.

"No witnesses, no statement."

"We can show motive, access to the murder weapon, and her fingerprint is consistent with a partial on the gun."

Jamie walked in at this point, carrying the motion in one hand.

"Her lawyer is cranking up his billable hours," She said, "A motion to suppress the gun, and the photograph of her with her sister's husband."

"Meaning her motive, access to the murder weapon and fingerprints." Adam noted sourly.

"We have all the facts. I think we'll convince Judge Marks."

"Nathan Marks?" Jack asked. 

"Luck of the draw," Jamie shrugged.

"Make sure your air bags are working." Adam said.

"The detectives and I are going over to that building tomorrow morning," Jamie explained to Jack as they left Adam's office, "So I may be a little late."

"That's all right," Jack sighed, "When you come back you can start briefing our response to the motion in the Sullivan case. We have the meeting with Judge Marks on Wednesday afternoon."

"He doesn't waste any time." Jamie remarked. Jack nodded.

"If he makes a wrong turn with that hook," Lennie Briscoe said, "Somebody sitting on the john is in for a big surprise."

"I can think of nicer ways of getting goosed in the morning." Jamie smiled, and as she looked up at the officer fishing the wire down the plumbing vent pipe, Lennie and Rey exchanged an amused look. See, now, this DA had a sense of humor.

"Got it!" The officer pulled the snake from the pipe and hauled out the gun Ana Galvez had insisted would be there. Rey took it from him and examined the end of the gun.

"Rib panel's cracked," He pointed out, showing it to Lennie and Jamie, "That could be hair."

"Let's get it to the lab," Jamie said, nodding at Lennie and Rey.

"Do you need a ride, counselor?" Lennie asked Jamie as they were preparing to leave.

"Actually, sure. That would be great, thank you." She replied, smiling at the detective. Lennie turned to Rey.

"I wanted to go over and talk to the DA," He said, "So I'll give Ms. Ross here a ride," Rey nodded in agreement. 

"No problem. See you back at the house, then."

"You can call me Jamie." Jamie told Lennie as he walked her over to the car.

"I didn't know we were that close." Lennie quipped, and Jamie smiled again.

"You said you wanted to see the DA – anything I can help you with?"

"No, I wanted to talk to Jack, actually."

"Have you two known each other long?" Jamie asked as Lennie opened the door for her.

"A while." He replied. Jamie nodded.

"So you won't mind if I ask you a question." 

"Shoot." Lennie said, starting the car and looking carefully over his shoulder for oncoming traffic.

"Has he always been like this?"

"Always been like what?" Lennie asked. 

"I don't know…" Jamie searched for an answer, "I can't quite describe it. But you would think a man with a reputation like his would be more…"

"More what?" Lennie asked again, and Jamie thought she heard a hint of impatience in his voice.

"He just doesn't seem to have much enthusiasm, that's all." Jamie said, although she knew that sounded silly the minute the words reached her ears. This was a mistake, she thought. But Lennie only nodded his head.

"Jack, he's… he's going through a rough time. You'll see. Wait until he gets his teeth in this Salva kid. You'll see a whole different side of him."

Jamie understood from his tone that he wasn't going to give her any more information, but that was enough for now. 

Jack was in his office when Lennie and Jamie arrived, lying on the couch reading the newspaper, taking a short break from the case files still spread out across his desk.

"Jack. She was right, we found the gun." Jamie said as she opened the door after being told to come in.  

"That's good news. Hello, Lennie." Jack sat up and slid his shoes back on. 

"Hello, Counselor." Lennie said cheerfully.

"I better get started on that brief for Judge Marks," Jamie backed towards the door, "I'll let you know when I get the evidence report."

The door closed behind her and Lennie looked over at Jack.

"Are you all right?" He asked.

"Nothing like getting right to the point, huh, Lennie?" Jack walked back over to his desk and sat down.

"Well, you know…"

"I'm fine. Thank you for the ride the other night."

"I just thought I would check." Lennie said, trying hard to keep his voice light. 

"Thank you."

"You know, if you ever need to talk…" Lennie began, but stopped when Jack looked up at him.

"I'll let you know." Jack said, attempting a smile.

"Would you look at the time," Lennie said, checking his watch, "Gotta make sure Rey got the gun over to the lab. I'll give Jamie a call the minute we get that report."

"I appreciate that, thank you."

"No problem." Lennie said, shutting the door behind him. Jack watched him go, his thoughts flashing back uncomfortably to Friday night. What was it he had said, exactly? It was all a little blurry. 

Jack turned back to his work, trying again to shake the exhaustion from his mind. 

"It's Rankin's hair and blood and Salva's prints." Jamie nearly ran back to the office that afternoon after collecting the evidence report from the police.

"Tell Scarletti's clerk we're ready for trial," Jack said, and Jamie reached for the phone on her desk while Monica pulled an envelope from Jack's mailbox and handed it to him.

"From Mercer." He called to Jamie as he read it, "About the gun."

Jamie hung up the phone, waiting.

"He's moving to suppress on a claim of privilege."

He handed the motion to Jamie, who glanced at it and slapped the paper against her hip in dismay.

"I don't believe it."

"You won't believe the date on the court hearing, either." Jack pointed it out on the form.

"Tomorrow morning! But we have the meeting with Marks in the afternoon."

"Another long night," Jack sighed, "Get together what you can find on attorney-client privilege."

"The people's knowledge of the whereabouts of the gun came as a result of a privileged communication between my client and myself." Abe Mercer began his argument in the courtroom the next morning.

"Our information came from his fiancée." Jack countered.

"Mr. Salva and his fiancée, Ms. Galvez, were conferring with me when Mr. Salva disclosed where he had hidden the gun."

"People v. Isario. When a client communicates with his attorney in the presence of a third party, it's assumed he's waived privilege."

"Yes, it is," Abe Mercer retorted, "But at the time I was both Mr. Salva and Ms. Galvez's attorney. The communication was made for the purpose of mounting a common defense. It's privileged."

"Your honor, for all we know Mr. Salva told his fiancée about the gun over dinner."

"I direct your attention, your honor, to the supporting affidavits from Mr. Salva and Ms. Galvez attesting to the time and place that the communications occurred."

"Your honor, these affidavits can't be taken at face value. They're self-serving, and in one case they may have been coerced."

Mercer turned angrily towards Jack, a vein popping out in his wrinkled forehead.

"An outrageous accusation." He sputtered.

"Calm down, Mr. Mercer," Judge Scarletti interrupted, "I'm granting your motion. The gun's out."

"I can't believe that… that…" 

"Calm down," Jack echoed Judge Scarletti as the two of them hurried through the courthouse hallways, "Think plain sight and Joanne Sullivan. We're already late."

"How in the world did he manage that?" Jamie came close to yelling, "I can't believe…"

"Jamie," Jack said, "Focus. Let's not lose another set of evidence today."

"Right." Jamie took a deep breath as Jack opened the door to Judge Marks' chambers. As they walked in, Judge Marks was on the phone.

"I don't care what some ADA agreed upon. Next time you see me, look at what's on my shoulders. It's a head, not a handle. I don't rubber stamp." He hung up and looked at Jack and Jamie as they sat down, "You're late."

"I'm sorry, a hearing was delayed over in..." Jack began, but Marks interrupted him. 

"Never mind. Miss Ross. I believe I last had the pleasure was when I was sentencing some liar represented by your ex-husband."

"I've been meaning to thank you." Jamie responded. 

"Lovely blouse. Rare to see single-ply silk with that texture. Must feel very nice. Italian weave?"

He was concerned about the type of blouse she was wearing? All right, Jamie thought, I can go with the flow where necessary, "Chinese."

"Ah. They're improving." Judge Marks smiled. 

"Your honor." Mr. Gillum spoke up, a hint of impatience creeping into his voice.

"Yes, Mr. Gillum?"

"If you're ready to proceed." 

"Of course." Judge Marks folded his hands on the desk in front of him and listened. 

"The police seized the evidence in question when the entered William Dunbar's apartment with an out-of-state arrest warrant." Gillum began.

"That had been properly lodged with the clerk of this court," Jack interrupted. 

"At most, they had the right to ascertain whether or not William Dunbar was present, they had no right to search beyond that."

"One of the detectives opened a closet door. He saw the gun." Jack said.

"On a shelf two feet over his head." Gillum noted.

"The issue here is the plain view exception?" Judge Marks asked.

"It is, your honor." Jack confirmed.

"So I can get a lot of diagrams, with room layouts and sightlines. What was where, who was standing on top of what."

"I can have them by tomorrow." Gillum said. 

"And then he'll come up with a different diagram, and we'll all sit around with rulers and protractors. I've got a better idea. Let's go to the apartment."

The lawyers looked at each other, not expecting this at all. 

"All of us?" Gillum asked.

"Yes. We'll have a picnic. Mr. McCoy, bring your cops."

Jack and Jamie exchanged a look. 

"I guess I'll call Briscoe and Curtis." Jamie whispered to Jack. 

Within two hours they were all gathered in William Dunbar's apartment. Rey was showing Judge Marks exactly where he had been standing. 

"It was there." Rey indicated a place on the shelf. 

"Like that, just dangling on the edge like that?" Gillum challenged. 

"Well, enough so I could see it. Maybe..." He shoved the gun back into the shelf, "Maybe there."

"Maybe." Judge Marks repeated. 

"Or maybe there, or maybe there." Rey moved the gun a few inches in each direction, impatience creeping into his voice. Judge Marks, unimpressed, turned to Lennie. 

"Where were you, Detective Briscoe?"

"Me? I was here."

"Maybe here?" The Judge asked. 

"Definitely here." Lennie said firmly.

"Did you see the gun?"

"I wasn't looking at the closet." Lennie replied.

"I'll take that as a no." He turned his attention back to Rey, "Detective Curtis, how tall are you?"

"Six two."

"Hmm. "Judge Marks stood back and looked up at the shelf, "I don't see the gun."

"He must have seen it, your honor; why else did he reach for it?" Jack spoke up.

"And the photos?"

"When I reached for the gun, I felt them." Rey said.

"Several courts have adopted a plain touch exception to the warrant requirement." Jamie stepped forward, but Judge Marks shook his head.  

"Nice try, Miss Ross. Not this one. The search was illegal."

"That only disallows use of the evidence against William Dunbar. We can still be used against Ms. Sullivan. She had no expectation of privacy here." Jack argued. 

"You're the one who alleges my client was having an affair with the occupant of this apartment. You're the one who with a witness who claims she left here at eight o'clock one morning." Gillum said. 

"Several days before the search. She has no standing unless she spent the night immediately before the search here. People v. Ortiz."

"How about that, Mr. Gillum? Client want to make a naughty confession?" 

"No, she won't incriminate herself by strengthening the alleged motive for this crime." Gillum said, folding his arms. 

"Could have argued common sense and experience," The Judge said. He turned and looked at Jamie, "Miss Ross. When you leave a man's apartment at eight o'clock in the morning, did you just drop in for coffee and a sweet roll?"

Jamie paused before answering, wondering exactly how to handle that question, "Am I a defense witness, judge?" 

Jack shook his head, disgusted by the Judge's attitude. Claire, he thought, never would have let anyone even…

Don't think about her, not right now. This is not the place. 

"You're an officer of the court, aiding in our search for the truth. You sample a man's hospitality once, are you likely to return to sample it again soon?"

All right, Jack thought, that was too much, "Your honor, this is not appropriate."

"If I left at eight a.m., I wasn't too impressed. I don't think I'd be rushing back." Jamie said, looking Judge Marks in the eye.   

"Can't argue with that," The Judge smiled, "Defense motion denied. Evidence against Miss Sullivan is admitted."

Jack followed Jamie out of the apartment, still shaking his head over the Judge's innuendos. 

"I thought he was going to ask your favorite sexual position next," He said.

"I grew up with four brothers. Marks is an amateur." Jamie said offhandedly, as if it hadn't bothered her a bit.

"You don't mind that kind of thing?"

"Would you rather he ruled against us?"

"Guess I'll have to unlearn some of my sensitivity training. If we have another hearing, you'll model silk for him again?" He asked. 

"Trust me," Jamie replied, "He would have been just as big a fan of rayon."

"I'm going over to talk to Marcy Wrightman," Jack told Jamie the next morning, "Care to join me?"

"Can I knock her over the head?" Jamie asked, and Jack smiled.

"Be my guest," He said, "I'm sure you had plenty of practice, with those four brothers."

"I could take any one of them, any day," Jamie laughed. 

They caught up with Marcy Wrightman as she was leaving her office.

"Ms. Wrightman," Jack called, "Can we talk?"

"You have as long as it takes me to hail a cab, Mr. McCoy."

"Do you know what Abe Mercer came up with?" Jack asked.

"I heard. The judge ruled the gun inadmissible." She replied.

"You didn't think to mention there might be a privilege problem." Jack asked, although it was more of a statement than a question.

"She didn't tell me. She didn't know it made a difference when Salva told her about the gun."

"And you didn't ask." Jack said.

"I assumed it was between bouts of heavy breathing. So did you. So shoot us both." 

"She'll have to take the stand." Jamie interjected.

"She'd rather eat ground glass. Forget it." 

"Use your powers of persuasion." Jack sounded as if he were trying to use his own.

"Absolutely not," Marcy replied, "You agreed to a plea, we held up our end, we gave you the gun." She reached over to open the door of the cab and began to step inside, "You renege, try cutting a deal in this town again. See you."

She climbed all the way in the cab, slammed the door and the driver took off down the street, leaving Jack and Jamie to watch her.

"I should have let you have a go at her," Jack told Jamie as he shook his head. 

"I wish you had." Jamie sighed.

"Your credibility is not a boomerang," Adam told Jack in his office, later that afternoon, "Give it up, it doesn't come back. One defendant's not worth it."

"We lost the tape. We lost the gun. I'm starting to doubt the constitution, Adam." Jack said glumly.

"Well, gotta move to Montana, live on a compound."

There was a knock on the door, and Jamie let herself in.

"You'll love this. Twelve years ago Marcy Wrightman shared an office with Abe Mercer."

"Where'd you learn this from?" Jack asked.

"A process server. Back then Wrightman went by her maiden name. Fletcher."

"Oh, yes. Marcy Fletcher. They shared more than an office."

"Son of a bitch," Jack commented, wide-eyed, "Mercer played us."

"He sent Ms. Galvez to cut a deal, knowing the gun wouldn't get in." Jamie said, looking at Adam, "He got her off the hook, but we'll never prove it."

"Not to sound like a broken record, but…"

"I'm not giving up on Salva," Jack interrupted, knowing exactly what Adam was going to suggest. I have had enough of deals, he thought, now and possibly forever. Not this case, not this time. Claire was right.

"Maybe we can give Ms. Galvez a little push without breaking our agreement," Jack told Jamie as they returned to their office, "Your friend Chuck Rodman. Think he could come in again?"

"What exactly do you have in mind?" 

"Call him and see if he can come in tomorrow. Dangle the death penalty case carrot in front of his nose."

"You want to transfer jurisdiction?" Jamie asked.

"No. But I want Marcy Wrightman to think that's what we're doing."

"I see. One good trick deserves another?"

"Now you're getting the hang of it." Jack smiled.

"The gun can't be used against Mr. Salva," Jack told Marcy Wrightman the next morning as he showed her into his office, with Ana Galvez following closely behind, "But it can be used against your client."

"We have a deal." Ms. Wrightman said, already on the defensive.

"With the State of New York," Jack agreed, "Not with the United States Government."

Jack opened his office door, where Jamie was waiting with Chuck Rodman, who had responded just as Jamie and Jack had hoped to Jamie's phone call.

"Mr. Rodman," Jack continued, "This is Ana Galvez and this is her attorney. Marcy Fletcher Wrightman. Mr. Rodman's with the US Attorney's office."

"What's going on here?" Ms. Wrightman asked.

Jamie pulled a letter from her briefcase and handed it to Jack, who held it in front of Ms. Wrightman.

"This letter cedes jurisdiction to the feds," He said, "Ms. Galvez, you and your boyfriend will be prosecuted in Federal Court. Mr. Rodman assures me the tape will be admitted into evidence. Both of you will face the death penalty under the anti-carjacking statute. It's not Romeo and Juliet, but..."

"Just because she knew where the gun was doesn't make her an accomplice." Ms. Wrightman cut Jack off.

"I'd settle for one execution." Jack replied. 

"What do you want from me?" Ana Galvez cried, dismayed.

"You take the stand against your boyfriend, I tear up this letter."

Ms. Wrightman glanced over at her client, who looked up at her with worried eyes.

"We need a moment alone here." She said. Jack led Jamie and Chuck out of the office, and once the door shut, Chuck glared at Jamie.

"So what am I, the dog or the pony?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." Jamie shook her head.

"I blew off a staff meeting to come here for this," Chuck said, his voice strengthening in anger, "Now I came here in good faith and I expected to leave with a capital case."

"I never promised you anything." Jamie smiled.

"Persona non grata, Jamie," Chuck pointed at her, "Your calls don't get returned."

He walked off down the hallway, prompting Jack to look at Jamie with raised eyebrows.

"He'll get over it," Jamie shrugged.

The office door opened, and Ms. Wrightman leaned out, summoning Jack and Jamie back in.

"Before she agrees to testify as to what Mr. Salva told her about the crime, my client wants an assurance from you."

"Yeah?" Jack asked.

Ana Galvez was sitting in one of the chairs, her face buried in her hands. 

"I don't want my baby to grow up without a father," She pleaded, "I don't want Fernando going away forever. You have to promise me that he won't."

"Ms. Galvez, I'm sorry about your situation," Jack said, "But the only way you can help your boyfriend now is to stop Uncle Sam from sticking a needle into his arm."

"You don't understand!" She cried, "It's my fault. I made him promise to get me a car so that I could take my mother to work at night in Brooklyn. He has his pride. He wanted to take care of me."

"He told you he was planning to steal the car?" Jamie asked.

"Only after, when it was on the news. He was so sick about it. That's why he didn't shoot her, that's why he covered her up. He's not evil. He did it for me, because I wanted a car. Oh, God, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry it happened."

"With her testimony, we have a case," Jack told Jamie, "Now you can tell Scarletti's clerk we're ready for trial."

"My first murder trial as an ADA," Jamie commented, "I thought we'd never get there."

"Well, sometimes it takes longer to get from there to here," Jack said, "But at least it's not a plea-bargain."

To be continued…

(The next chapter is the last)


	5. When You Hear Him Plead

_Chapter 5: When You Hear Him Plead_

"He'll argue that keeping his mailing list confidential is essential to the exercise of his first amendment rights." Jack told Lennie and Rey while Jamie looked through the book they'd brought – a technical guide to murder that appeared to have been used in a killing a few days earlier. Lennie and Rey were hoping Jack or Jamie could help them get the mailing list from the publishing company. 

"And a Judge'll buy that?" Lennie asked, incredulous. It was amazing what these judges and lawyers could come up with.

"You want to spend six months in court to find out?" Jack asked.

"I'd like to know before the killer starts drawing a pension." Rey replied.

Jamie closed the book and looked up at the three men.

"He followed the instructions in here step-by-step. Chapter six. There's even a checklist. The publisher provided the means for him to commit a felony."

"Criminal facilitation?" Jack said, "I don't think so."

"I'd like to run with it." 

"If that's what you want to do, God bless you." Jack retreated to his office and shut the door behind him. Jamie stood up and smiled at Lennie and Rey, tilting her head towards Jack's door. 

"What does he know?"

The detectives smiled back at her.

"So, Jamie," Rey asked, "When does Fernando Salva's trial start?"

"Opening statements are Wednesday," Jamie said, "Scarletti's got another trial in three weeks, he wanted this one out of the way. But I think I can find time to visit your publisher this morning. We have voir dire after lunch."

"Let us know," Lennie said, "And I'd be more than happy to testify against our pal Fernando."

"Me too." Rey said.

"I'm sure Jack will want at least one of you," Jamie agreed, "We'll figure out who as soon as we can. Don't worry, I'll let you know."

Meanwhile, Jack sat in his office, struggling over the third draft of his opening statement. It was his first trial since the retrial of Lila Crenshaw, months ago – the beginning of July, wasn't it? The criminal justice system had lost patience with him. Scarletti was rushing the Salva trial, Marks was scheduling the Sullivan trial and who knew what was coming next, although he was certain there was something. There was nothing to do but plow through it, nothing to do but keep up the pace, no matter how tiring it was. Enough work, Jack thought, and maybe I'll forget.

Except that was not possible. 

Every day there was something – "Claire would like that," or "Claire would think that's funny, I'll have to tell her…" and then reality would come crashing back, and he would realize it every time as if it had just happened, just that second.

But for everyone else, the pain had begun to fade. Lennie and Rey had returned to their cases. Adam was happy – or at least, as happy as he ever was – with Jamie's performance. Monica had stopped giving him that uncomfortable, pitying look. Even Michael Kennedy was serving out his sentence at Mount McGregor. 

So why, then, did he still feel as if time had stopped? It wasn't as if they had ever promised each other it would be forever. The last woman he had said "Until death do us part" to was living in California, married to a real estate broker named Barry. The words didn't mean anything. 

There had been no way to prepare for this, no way to brace for the unexpected impact of losing someone like her. Now he felt like he was looking into a tunnel with no light at the end. There will always be this gaping hole in my life, he thought. 

Just go to work, and go home alone. Try to hide this. Try to find something to fill this vast, empty void. Before she came along he was fine, he had lived without her. He could only wonder how he had done it, because it was impossible to do it now.

***

"Ladies and Gentlemen of the jury, have you reached a verdict?" Judge Scarletti asked the jury. Jack and Jamie exchanged looks. The trial had gone well, but with juries there was always an element of uncertainty.

"On the first count of the indictment, murder in the second degree, we the jury find the defendant, Fernando Salva, guilty."

The courtroom erupted. Mr. Rankin pulled his daughters close. Ana Galvez, sitting on the other side of the aisle, behind Salva, burst into tears and was consoled by Fernando's grandmother. Abe Mercer looked stricken, but Fernando Salva just looked numb, as if he had never considered this outcome.

Jamie smiled at Jack.

"We did it," She said.

"How about that." He replied, with a satisfied nod.

"Order, please." Judge Scarletti banged his gavel, "Ladies and Gentlemen of the jury, we thank you for your services. The defendant is remanded to custody. A date of sentencing will be set three to four weeks hence. This court is adjourned."

"Judge Marks has voir dire scheduled for tomorrow in the Sullivan case," Jack reminded Jamie as they returned to their office, "Not much time to celebrate."

"Oh, come on," Jamie chided, "This is the first murder conviction I was ever happy about. I'm required to celebrate. I don't even have Katie tonight."

Jack had to smile. 

"Congratulations, you two," Adam spotted them walking back, "I knew I made the right decision. You make a good team."

Adam thought better of saying that after the words were already out of his mouth. Jack flinched a little, but he covered well.

"Credit where credit is due, Adam. Jamie did more than her fair share of the work."

"I don't care who did what. I'm just happy with the results. Have a good night."

"I doubt we'd be breaking any rules if we celebrated with a drink," Jamie said after Adam disappeared into the elevator, "I actually feel good about the system tonight."

"All right," Jack agreed, "But I'm going to blame you if we don't pick the right jurors tomorrow."

"So here's to seven acquittals and one conviction." Jack said, clinking his glass of scotch against Jamie's vodka martini.

"Hear hear," Jamie took a sip of her drink, "And here's to making a good team."

Jack nodded, but Jamie could see his eyes didn't agree with his smile.

"I'm sorry," She said, "Did I say something wrong?"

"No. You didn't. We do make a good team." He said, although he didn't sound as if he meant it.

"All right, it's time to be honest," Jamie set her drink down on the bar and looked at Jack intently, "The first time I saw you, when I had no idea who you were, you looked as if you had the whole world at your feet. Then I start working with you, and you are…"

"A shell of my former self?" Jack asked, taking a sip of his scotch.

"I didn't say that."

"No," He said, "But did you ever wonder how I came to be without an assistant? Did you ever wonder how your position opened up?"

"I just assumed someone left," Jamie said.

"Not voluntarily," Jack sighed, "My former assistant was killed. In a car crash. She was…" He trailed off, and Jamie tried to figure out the end of the sentence.

"She was what?"

"Very special." He finished. Jamie eyed him carefully.

"There's more to it than that." She said.

"Yes," Jack said, "There's more to it."

"Were you… no, wait. I'm being terrible, I'm sorry. It's none of my business."

"No," Jack looked up at her, "I haven't talked about it much. I try not to. I think, if I don't talk about her, I won't think about her. That doesn't work."

"I don't think that ever works."

"No, I don't think so either." 

"So why not talk about her?"

Jack looked up at Jamie. 

"And tell you what?"

"Anything. Anything you want to." Jamie prodded. Jack looked up at the ceiling and thought for a moment.

"I never expected her," He said slowly, as if the words required careful thought, "And then I never expected to lose her."

Jack must have been her senior by at least twenty years, but at this moment the mother in Jamie was taking over. She almost wanted to reach out and hug him. The look in his eyes said far more than his words ever could.

He had been in love with this woman. Suddenly every one of his strange, moody moments made perfect sense to Jamie. 

"I'm sorry," She said after a long pause. What else do you say when confronted with that kind of pain? Sympathy didn't seem enough.  

Jack only nodded.

"Thank you." He said.

"I haven't known you that long, Jack," She said, "But if you ever need someone to talk to, I'm a good listener."

"I might take you up on that, you know."

"I'd be disappointed if you didn't." Jamie replied.

Later that night, after sharing a cab to their respective homes, Jamie said goodbye to Jack and unlocked the door of her house. It was Isabel's night off, since it was Neil's night with Katie, so she had the place to herself. She picked up a few toys the little girl had left on the floor and straightened a few things she hadn't had time to pick up that morning.

She sat on the couch, amazed at how quiet everything was when Katie wasn't there. Even when she was asleep, her presence just energized the whole house. Jamie still wasn't used to seeing her off on her visits to her father – the whole process was unpleasant. 

But Katie would be back home on Sunday morning. The quiet was temporary.

Jamie went over the events of the day in her head. The triumph of a guilty verdict – it sent chills down her spine. Her first trial as a prosecutor, her first conviction. It was better than anything she had anticipated. Maybe there was hope for the world yet.

But then there was Jack. His confession hadn't explained everything, but Jamie could fill in the blanks. A phrase from a book she had read many times after the death of her grandmother came back to her – 

"I have to begin from the beginning and repeat: She's dead. As if it's just struck me. And I find myself drowning, engulfed by the disorder of the current, wanting to seize her hand to bring me to shore. Missing her so…"

She could only imagine that kind of a loss. Although he hadn't said much, he had said everything he needed to say.

Jamie sighed and pulled her shoes off, rubbing her tired feet. Feet were not made for sixteen hour days in heels, she thought. 

And suddenly, the memory came back to her. The day she had first seen Jack, talking to someone as he punched a button on the elevators, his eyes flashing with excitement about something. The person with him was a woman – it had to be her – a woman with black hair and brown eyes who was smiling at him. Not at what he was saying, but at him.

A moment that seemed insignificant at the time, Jamie thought, now became doubly important in retrospect. As many times as she turned the memory around in her mind, she could only remember the fact that they were both smiling.

Like Mr. and Mrs. Rankin, they were happy. Until someone decided to take that away. Whether by a malicious act or an accident, the result was the same. Jamie wished Katie was home. She felt the strongest urge she'd ever had to just hold her daughter and never let go.

***

"For the record, the jury having found Fernando Salva guilty of murder in the second degree, we are here for the purpose of imposing sentence. Mr. McCoy, are you ready to proceed?"

"We are, your honor." Jack replied. It had been a busy three weeks since Salva's conviction. He had been working on his brief to the appellate division in the Sullivan case, fighting the dismissal of the Sawyer case and that unsettling meeting with Judge Hellman had taken far too much of his time. Thankfully, there wasn't much to say when it came to sentencing Fernando Salva.

"Your honor, I renew my objection, you excluded this tape." Mercer spoke up.

"At trial. It is being offered at this hearing, not for its propative value, but as an aggravating factor in sentencing. Now sit down."

Mercer sat, and Jack stood next to the tape player while the bailiff pushed the play button. Mrs. Rankin's anguished voice filled the courtroom.

"Fernando, please. Think about this. All the trouble you'll get in? You'll regret it for the rest of your life."

"Too late. It don't matter."

"I've met a lot of young men like you in my work. Boys everyone gave up on. But they turned their lives around. So can you, Fernando. I can help you. I want to help you."

"Get out of the car."

"No, wait! Listen to me. Think of all the people you're going to hurt. Your family! You'll ruin their lives!"

"Come on, come on, move!"

"No, please. Look at the picture. Look at my little babies."

"Come on."

"I love them so much, I love their father, please don't take me away from them."

"Come on!"

"No, no, I don't wanna die!"

"Let go!"

"No! Stop!"

"Shut up!"

"Oh please, oh god no!"

"Turn around!"

"Just stop and think, Fernando, you're making a terrible mistake, just stop and think!"

The tape ended, and Jack stood silently for a moment.

"The people have nothing further, your honor." He said quietly.

"The lab ran off a copy." Lennie said, holding up a copy of the tape before handing it to Jack. 

"Good. I'm leaving instructions to play it at Salva's parole hearing. Twenty-five years from now."

"Makes you wonder how close she came to walking away from it," Jamie said, looking at Jack. For the past few weeks she'd been keeping a careful eye on him, trying to keep him from burying himself in his work or drinking too much, but she doubted her success. Once she understood him better, it didn't take long for her to realize she genuinely cared about Jack. Because of that, she would keep trying. 

"She was dead the minute he said drive." Jack replied.

"Why didn't he shoot her?" Jamie asked, remembering Ana Galvez's reasoning. 

"The noise." Lennie said, walking across the room to where Jack was standing while Jamie left, "So, want to join me for a club soda?"

"Not tonight," Jack looked up at Lennie, "Rain check?" Lennie nodded and headed for the door. As he put his hand on the doorknob, Jack spoke up again.

"You know, a few weeks before it happened, she wanted to quit. I talked her out of it."

Lennie took a deep breath. Was that guilt he heard? Don't add that on top of everything else, Jack, we all have enough baggage to carry from that day.

"Yeah, well," He said, "I could have kept walking past that bar."

Lennie shut the door behind him as he left.

I wanted to keep her with me, Jack thought, forever. I would have gladly said it if I knew what staring into forever without her would be like. 

But it was too late for that.

It was too late for everything.

****************************************

Author's Note:

The majority of dialogue taken from the show in this story comes from "Causa Mortis," and includes every scene from that episode that features Jack and/or Jamie, although there are also scenes from both "I.D." and "Double Blind." (I had to move the dates around so everything fit together properly.) There is one small intentional omission – in the first scene with Judge Marks during "I.D." Jack says they were late due to a "30-30 hearing." Since, in the story, they were late because they were still meeting with Judge Scarletti, I took the "30-30" out. As for the circumstances of Michael Kennedy's plea-bargain, the fact that he only got twelve months at Mount McGregor is from "Under the Influence." The rest is just made up, including his name. 

And to give proper credit where due, the passage that Jamie remembers is a quote from _Necessary Losses, by Judith Viorst, a book about the mourning process that was once required reading for a class of mine. _

As for the ending, I really prefer to tie things up with a happy ending, or barring that, a resolution of some kind. The problem here is that the actual episode upon which this story is based has an ending that implies that it isn't really over, that Jack is still grief and guilt-stricken and will continue to be so, off and on, for quite a while yet. Given that circumstance, this ending was about the best I could come up with. Hopefully it isn't too anti-climactic.  


End file.
